Vengeance and Retribution
by Lady Paprika
Summary: This isn't only the story of one of the bloodiest revolutions. It's about love. Or maybe these two things are irrevocably entwined. Maybe the first cannot exist without the latter in an age of tremulous wisdom and sheer foolishness... Pairings: Marth x Peach x Ike, Samus x Captain Falcon. Based on the novel, "A Tale of Two Cities," by Charles Dickens. For EC's and PitFTW's contest.
1. Golden Threads

**A/N: Hey guys! (If you're there!) This is my rendition of _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens. It's for The Element Commander and PitFTW's Novelty contest. Not that many participants so far, but so far there have been some pretty promising ones!**

**Anyway, if you've read the book already, here's one disclaimer - I will never, ever be able to do justice to such an amazing story. I'm not trying. This is just a tribute to one of the greatest stories I've ever been forced to read in a literature class.**

**For those who haven't read _A Tale of Two Cities_ I highly urge you to! But if you're like me and hardly have patience for the classics and the language associated with it, I hope you read this anyway - Trust me, it is an amazing story. There is mystery, romance, death, despair, and hope.**

**The world that I've set this in is an AU of sorts. Parisea represents France and Nintaindo represents Britain. The universe I've set this in is slightly steampunk just to make the take on this classic slightly more original. Also, all Smashers in this story will appear to be human. That means people like Bowser, Kirby, Fox, Wolf etc. will all be human.**

**Pairings include - Captain Falcon x Samus, Marth x Peach x Ike triangle.**

**Anyway, without further ado, here's the story!**

**I, Lady Paprika, do not own anything associated with Nintendo which includes its characters, settings and anything that falls under its ownership. I also do not own _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens or any quotes that I may have inserted here that belong to him.**

* * *

The beat of the horse's hooves against the dirt road felt comparatively slower to Peach than her own erratic heartbeats. Today _could_ be the day. Sitting primly in the carriage with her gloved hands folded neatly across her lap, she stared at Luigi who was sitting in front of her, their knees nearly knocking into each other for every bump the carriage made. She may have been facing him, but she was not really _looking_ at him. She had not looked outside at all since the carriage had started moving. The stench was enough to make her understand not to look at the scenery that greeted her outside.

Luigi gave her a mustachioed smile - more perfunctory, she thought, than anything else. "Samus owed a debt to him, you know. He found her on the streets and took her in when nobody else would. Her information cannot be false if he cared for her."_  
_

She only nodded, thinking of the woman who sat in a corner, knitting furiously as if she had no more time left. She had been strange, quite different from Peach. Where Peach was incredibly soft, this Samus Aran had been incredibly hard in both how she looked and her mannerisms. But Peach had been inclined to think that Samus had given her the right information.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not speak again but after several minutes of silence, she heard the driver command the horse to slow down and finally stop. Exiting the cramped carriage with assistance of Luigi, she stared ahead of her, biting her lip. She had commanded herself not to hope, but she couldn't help the way her hands began to shake. She might find him here and even though she willed herself not to, she couldn't help the way her legs went warm and cold at the same time. The way they yielded and unyielded, wanting to turn around and bolt but daring her to inch forward.

Luigi grasped her hand, as if sensing the conflicting emotions that skittered across her mind and together they both read the title of the building that towered over them ominously. The building was about twenty stories high and a huge, gray cement wall surrounded the building. Barbed wire was coiled around at the top to warn the innocent away and to prevent the damned from escaping.

**_Shadow Moses Institute for the Imprisoned_**

She took a deep breath and walked towards the prison.

•••

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

The streets were littered with corpses rotting on the streets - there was no place to bury them if anybody cared to even identify the bodies in the first place. The air was enough to make any foreigner gag or vomit from the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh - but most of the working class of Parisea could not smell the stench, and they did not glance at the bodies - they were far too busy trying to find food that the rats had not gotten to already.

Inside _Blue Falcon_, the pub where Peach and Luigi had just visited early that morning, sat Samus and her husband, Captain Falcon. Captain Falcon was the one taking orders, and handling the register. Samus was sitting in one of the grimy booths. In her lap, there was a half completed yellow scarf. She was deftly knitting red into it, calmly yet furiously fast. A muted storm.

Next to her, a short, nearly bald man was talking to her. He was dressed in shabby clothes and he was clutching one of those Pikmin dolls that had gone out of fashion ten years earlier. If you looked closely, you could see dried blood on the front of his shirt and on the Pikmin doll. It used to be yellow, but now it was a dull, rusty red. "Killed my son, 'e did. Ness was my only joy in th' world." His squinty eyes squinted even further as if he was trying not to cry. The image was hard to erase and he suddenly found himself unable to continue.

His wife had left him two months back when it was clear that he wouldn't be able to provide for his family. All he had left was Ness who never complained, who patiently bore through the days where he'd only have half a pear to eat. He had been dragging that Pikmin doll along through the muddy streets, searching for a metal stick when the car had come by lightning quick. He had seen the whole thing happen of course - knew what was going to happen a second before it did, early enough to witness the way his son's eyes did not register what was happening, but too late to give any kind of warning.

"I need a name," she replied in a flat voice, slamming his thoughts back into their little booth. She slid the bright red yarn over the sharp edge of one needle, looping it neatly.

The man - who had introduced himself as Olimar - bit his lip, and rubbed at his pink, squashed nose. "I dunno. But 'e gave me this." Olimar shifted slightly as he extracted a coin from his grimy clothes. He slid it across to Samus who stopped her knitting to inspect it. It was a silver coin. "Said it would compensate my loss." In his mind, he'd seen the wink of silver as that man flipped it towards him. He hadn't even seen his face because the man did not exit the car. He had simply rolled his tinted window back enough to toss the coin into the dirt before zooming away, leaving Olimar cradling Ness's head to his chest. As if that would help staunch the flow of blood that was coloring the street and the Pikmin doll that was slowly turning red. Olimar hadn't washed it yet.

Samus's jaw twitched but apart from that, she gave no indication of having heard the tremor of outrage and defeat in his voice. Instead, she asked, "Could you describe the car? Did you get an ID?" Olimar knew why she was asking. Only the bourgeoisie owned cars, and if Olimar's story was true, then the man must have been very wealthy indeed. They knew that only a wealthy man would think they were being generous by paying a silver for a young boy's death. They had no hearts.

Olimar squinted his eyes. "The car musta been blue, I think. As for the ID, I only caught the last four bits. I think it was Q-U-1-S. Sorry if that don't help you but I got no place else to turn. They said you was the best."

Samus's face - which was a mask of steel this whole exchange softened slightly. "I am." She took the silver coin in her hand and ran the pad of her thumb over its slightly raised surface. She stared at the emblem that was shaped in the form of a hand and frowned at it. She faced Olimar again. "I can't give back your son, Olimar for a son is indeed an irreplaceable thing." She gripped the coin in her fist tightly, before she gave a faint smirk. There was something hard about it, as if she didn't know how to smile any other way.

"But this monsieur was right - this silver coin will indeed compensate for some of your loss. You did the right thing coming here."

Olimar slumped in his seat, as though he were relieved that he passed some sort of test. He'd get his vengeance.

Eventually the knitting slowed down to a gradual halt and Samus stood up.

Time for work.

•••

He was closing his eyes, trying not to listen to the quiet squeaking or the way their tiny claws tapped against the worn out stone floor as the rats skittered across the tiny room. He dreamed of that beautiful blonde woman with those worried blue eyes. As if she were searching for something that would always be out of her reach. He hadn't seen the sky in two weeks, and somehow he'd forgotten how it had looked like. He imagined they were the color of her eyes which was something he hadn't quite forgotten yet. Searching, searching, never quite present. Out of his reach.

"Sir Lowell, they are calling for you."

He didn't know a single thing about her, not even her name.

Marth reluctantly creaked open his eyes and looked up at the dark outline of the guard who had addressed him with that name. He tried not to hate the man who was only doing his duty. He grit his teeth and stood up, wobbling on his feet slightly and hunching over. He wasn't used to sitting in a room which was as dark as a starless night. He also wasn't used to rooms in which he couldn't stand properly. Or rooms in which he had to stand in a corner to pee because there were no toilets. For God's sake, he was not used to a prison.

So he was quite relieved when the guard called him. Better death than this abominable place, he had decided a long time ago. Anything was better than this. Willingly, he got up, careful not to hit his head against the ceiling. He'd already hit his head on that blasted ceiling more times than he could count. Once outside, he realized it was late afternoon judging by the light that streamed through the windows. He squinted as his pupils began to reluctantly adjust to the light. He barely had to the time to stretch his legs before the guard shoved him out into the courtroom.

He wished he had time to prepare himself. He did not want the jury or court to try him while he smelled like piss and he was dressed in clothes that he had not changed in nearly two and a half weeks. Not to mention, his hair was probably a mess and he'd probably be blinking stupidly inside the courtroom as well trying to adjust to even brighter light thanks to all the lights.

Stumbling forward almost blindly, with only the guard to show him where he was going, he tried to remember bring his wits together, but for some reason all he could think back on was the day he got captured. He had spent two weeks in confinement trying to figure out what had happened. He knew he had been convicted for treason but he had no idea of what treason he had committed. He could only conclude that he had been framed. His frown deepened at the thought.

It was problematic, because he understood the reasoning behind being framed. He was perhaps one of the most hated men in Parisea after all. It was why he had fled to Nintaindo after all. The last thing he expected was to go to prison in Nintaindo however. All he wanted was a fresh start.

He blinked again, his train of thought breaking off as he realized they were finally in court. He snuck a glance at two men he had never seen in his life before - a man with flaming red hair and eyes that almost looked as red as his mane. Scaly green tattoos covered his arms and when he opened his mouth to give his name - Bowser Koopa - Marth could have sworn he had seen fangs rather than teeth.

The man seated next to him looked even more intimidating. His hair too was red, but it was combed back with smooth and controlled precision. He had dark, almost greenish skin. His bushy orange-red eyebrows were furrowed over his eyes but he was smiling serenely. He gave his name as Ganondorf Dragmire. Marth had never seen either of them in his life.

He looked to his right and sitting next to him was a tall man who looked almost too burly to be his attorney. He hadn't caught his name when it was being announced because he'd been thinking about what he could have possibly done to end up in court. The wig sitting on his head however - the white long curls that indicated he was a lawyer - indicated that this was the person who would be making his case. There was an extremely guarded, yet bored expression in his eyes. He sat casually back in his seat as if he looked almost bored. Marth noted his black court robes were extremely rumpled as if he hadn't cared to wash them in days.

Marth's stomach plummeted. He wad dead all right.

His attorney stood up and when he did, he swayed on his feet as if he were on a rocking ship. Marth stared at him in horror. Was this guy actually drunk?

But when the man spoke, his speech sounded clear. "Permission to begin, Your Honor?"

The judge up in front - a man with a light brown hair and intelligent green eyes nodded. Marth studied him. Even though he had a fox-like face, those eyes showed fairness. Marth only prayed that he was exceptionally merciful today.

•••

He was staring at the metal green pipes in front of him, trying to figure out which way to connect them. Pipes were incredibly easy to put together once you understood them and he understood them remarkably well. He slid a hand across one of their cold metal surfaces. The pipes were his anchor, a warp tunnel from the thoughts that had once picked at his mind.

What was he thinking about again? He picked up a screwdriver and attached one pipe to the next. It probably wasn't important. Nothing mattered but these beautiful, simple tools. So simple, so straightforward. The art of plumbing had saved his life in prison, of that he was sure. He knew he had to have held a different profession before since he picked up on plumbing in prison, but he wasn't sure what it was and anyway, did it even matter? Let him play with his toys.

And then the door opened and a flood of light made him cringe away, latching onto one of the pipes before he retreated to the furthest corner. The darkness was safe, he reasoned. It was what he had known for most of his life. The darkness, the pipes. Everything before that was irrelevant.

"Papa?"

He froze, gripping the pipe tightly. He couldn't remember when he'd been called that. Papa... papa... it was a title only reserved for fathers. Impossible. He was no father. No life existed before the pipes.

This girl, whoever she may be, had the wrong person.

"Papa?" And yet again, there it was. He did not want to look at her, oh heavens no. Didn't know the last time he'd really seen anybody interact with him. The guards never called him, "papa." His name was three-six-four.

"Don't be scared." The voice was meant to be low, soothing. As if this mysterious girl was trying to coax a frightened animal. But he heard her voice catch on the word, "scared."

She was scared wasn't she? Maybe she needed pipes in her life. Maybe she was crazy and that's what was calming to three-six-four. Maybe that's what made him stretch out a little into the light to the speaker in question.

She was beautiful but he did not recognize her. It was too dark. "It's me," she said softly. "Peach."

The name sounded so familiar. So, so familiar. It hurt him terribly to think about it... Think about the pipes, three-six-four, he told himself. He looked down at the pipes and his mind began to calm down.

Until she put both her clammy palms on either side of his face and forced him to really look at her. "Daddy," she said, and she looked on the verge of crying with the way those periwinkle eyes turned a deeper shade of blue. "Don't you remember me? I'm your daughter."

He wanted so badly, so very badly to look back at the pipes and the way they worked intricately but she would not let him, as fragile as she looked. So he started from her lips which were pressed together tightly and shaking, up to a dainty nose which was red. For some reason, the eyes were hard to look at. He mustn't focus on those yet. So he looked at how her blonde hair was almost golden. Once upon a time he'd seen hair like that. So familiar...

Almost of his own volition, his hand went to his breast pocked and finally slipped it out. At first it looked like a golden thread. But he felt it through his finger, the fineness of it, the smoothness. It was hair. His wife. He reminded himself that he'd had a wife. He was dimly aware of that, of her...

A wife. She had the same hair. He brought the strand of hair to the strange girl in front of him. They matched almost - His wife's was lighter and probably must have faded with age. The girl in front of him was alive after all.

The pipes on his workbench were calling to him so badly. But instead he finally looked, _really_ looked, at her eyes and found that they matched his wife's exact shade. It had to be impossible.

"Peach?" He had once had a daughter he had named after his wife when she died in childbirth. His life, his joy. But that had been so very long ago. It was hard and painful to remember... but he could remember it all. The details were still very fuzzy, very disoriented, but they were becoming sharper.

"Yes, daddy! It's me!" Peach said, and the palms of her hands slid off his face to wrap around his neck as she buried her face into his neck and began to sob. "I finally found you. They kept transferring you and I thought I'd lost you, but I found you. Now we can leave this place."

"Where are we?" he asked as if in a trance. As if he could not quite believe what was going on. The girl standing in front of him was no longer a gawky fourteen year old but had pushed into an eighteen or nineteen year old. "How long has it been?" These were questions he only vaguely wanted to know answers to.

"We're still in Parisea, father. It's not safe for either of us so we'll be going to Nintaindo. It's just across the border and all of our servants are already there."

"But why move? This has been our home for so long, my dear."

Peach's hands clasped his tightly when she withdrew from her embrace. "You must understand, father. Parisea is not the place you knew before. It's been five years. Anybody with a decent amount of wealth has already fled. The streets are bloody, the peasants are starving but money won't give them anything. The queen and king do nothing but eat their cake and go on holidays and so the proletariat are angry and they want blood. Parisea is not as it once was."

"So we must... flee? But surely, I'm a doctor so I am part of the working class..."

"Trust me father, the poor have been turned to rabid dogs. They will attack you whether you are responsible or not. It's not a place for you nor I to be."

He looked at Peach, the way her eyes glinted earnestly. Through one eye, he could see her clearly. The other had lost its perfect vision awhile back and he'd lost his monocle in prison awhile back. Then she added something else, that made all hesitation and thought slip away. "The revolution is on the brink. Some say it has already occurred." She said it so softly, as if she had almost sighed it.

He looked down at his pipes glittering seductively in the dim lighting before he looked up. They were beckoning at him, telling him that only they understood him. They told him they had all the secrets of comfort and love.

"All right," he said finally, looking up. "Lead me away to Nintaindo."

Her shoulders sagged in relief as if she didn't think he would agree and she would be forced to stay here forever. "It's only a couple of hours away. Once we reach there, I'm afraid we'll have to go into the courtroom to sign some papers..."

Doctor Mario closed his eyes and tried not to think about the home he was leaving. The home he had forgotten for five years and had only now just remembered. He still wasn't sure what to make of all this. He just wanted to drift off into a sleep in which he was jumping in and out of pipes to a place less scary...

•••

"Will the prosecutors, Bowser Koopa and Ganondorf Dragmire please present their witness for questioning?"

Bowser turned around and nodded once to the squat man with a hooked pink nose and thick eyebrows. He waddled towards the witness stand and after swearing himself in, the lawyer, who called himself Wolf O'Donnell, began to question him. Marth had nearly cursed aloud when he saw the wolf-like man. He knew that Wolf was one of the very best lawyers as well as the most expensive. If Marth had still associated himself with the Lowells, then he would have been able to hire him. Marth dug his fingers into the skin of his palm until he felt pain. He prayed silently, cutting a deal with God. If there was any way he got out of this alive, he would find that blonde woman and find out what troubled her so deeply. Perhaps then, he figured, this would be his repayment for being acquitted. He would find her and he would help her.

"What is your name?"

"Wario Wario."

The court began to mutter a little. Wario was a very wealthy businessman. Nobody knew how he'd become wealthy in such a short amount of time, but it was quite clear that he was not born into his opulence. He lacked the grace and manners of the wealthy.

"Can you tell us where you were at twenty-one hours, twelve minutes on April the fourth, one-sixty seven AT?"

Wario licked his lips, briefly locking eyes with Bowser and Ganondorf then began to recite as if he'd memorized all his lines. "I was walkin' down the street, walkin' my dog yeah? Then all of a sudden, I saw him." And here, Wario pointed at Marth.

"Could you clarify, please? So we could record this down on paper?"

"That man. Marth Lowell. He's Parisean, isn' he? Makes sense..."

Marth closed his eyes, sucking in his lower lip. He bit as hard as he could down on the lip. Every time he was addressed as a "Lowell" he wanted to throw something against the wall and hear it break.

"Objection," a voice to Marth's right called out quietly. "He's supposed to stick to the story, not pass off judgments of his own."

The judge - Judge McCloud - raised an eyebrow at Wario who shrugged. "Sustained. Stick to the facts, please."

"Right. Well I saw him and he was meetin' up with some Pariseans, yeah? Saw him pass some information. A sheet of paper, really. And on the sheet, I could see the official seal of Nintaindo on it. So it had to have been some government paper, yeah?"

Wolf narrowed his eyes. "And how did you know they were Parisean?"

"They were wearin' that stupid emblem. You know the one."

"How did it look like?" Wolf pressed. "Describe it to us, if you will."

Wario waved an impatient hand. "It was a blue dragon with wings outstretched. Saw the tattoo on his arm."

Marth groaned inwardly, but tried to remain calm on the surface. The blue dragon represented Parisean Intelligence Agency. Mentally he cursed himself a thousand times and glared at Bowser and Ganondorf. What had he ever done to make enemies of them? He was more angry than frightened.

As if he could hear Marth's thoughts, a sly smile lit up on Wolf's face. "Thank you, Wario. That will be all."

Fox shifted in his seat and peered over at the defendant's side. "Would the defendant like to question the witness?"

With a flourish, Marth saw the man beside him stand up and hoped, not for the first time that day, that he was competent enough to make a compelling case. "Most certainly." He circled the desk to walk towards Wario. "Mr. Wario, isn't it? Wasn't there a scandal about you in the papers a couple of years ago about accepting a bribe-"

"Objection!" Wolf snarled, and Marth thought that if Wolf were a canine, his hackles would have been raised. As it was, he already looked wolf-like... or was that just his nickname? "The inquiry has nothing to do with the case at hand!"

"I'm merely questioning the witness's honesty, particularly when money is involved," he shot back. Marth noted that Wario had become flushed, but oddly did not comment.

Fox frowned and though he looked like he wanted to say otherwise, he said, "Sustained. Please keep the focus of the questions on the case at hand."

Undeterred, the defense attorney asked, "Mr. Wario, how did you see this tattoo?"

Wario shrugged, "Well, I saw them show him somethin' on their arm but I couldn' make out what it was. So I followed them to the pub on Fifth Avenue, and one of them pulled their sleeve back while I was sittin' there not even three meters away."

Marth's defense attorney rubbed his jaw, as though contemplating what to say next. "Interesting. you said you couldn't identify the tattoo while you saw Marth supposedly exchanging information. How far away from them were you when you saw this happening?"

Wario frowned. "Probably about fifty meters away. Why?"

"So how can you be sure that who you saw was Marth?"

Wario rolled his eyes as he retorted, "Never met anybody else with blue hair. Have you?"

"I'd like you to close your eyes for just a moment, Wario."

For one moment, Wario glanced at the burly man suspiciously. Marth could see him thinking about the request and finally seeing no way past it. He closed his eyes.

And it was then that Marth understood his attorney's strange request. He was taking off his court robes to reveal clothes that were similar to Marth's - disheveled and blue. He finally yanked his lawyer's wig off to reveal combed back hair...

...and it was the exact shade as Marth's.

There was a collective gasp upon the audience and the jury - even Fox looked slightly surprised. Annoyed that he couldn't see anything, Wario opened his eyes and for a moment looked slightly confused.

"Could you tell who the real Marth is between him and I standing twenty meters away?"

Wario swallowed and Marth could see beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. The knot that had been twisting into more knots in his chest finally began to lessen. He finally understood what his defense attorney was doing.

What followed next was the loudest silence Marth had ever heard. He could tell what Wario was thinking. On one hand, he wanted to say that he could easily identify who the real Marth was. But the jury would see through the lie because the likeness between Marth and his defense attorney was extraordinary. Even if he lied, Marth knew that the case would be won.

"Answer Mr. Greil's question," Fox finally said, breaking the silence.

"You two are very much alike..." Wario said, though it seemed like the words killed him to do so.

"So," Mr. Greil said, as he began to replace the wig on his head. "Would it be prudent of me to say that from a distance of fifty meters you could not tell the difference between Marth and I?"

Marth didn't have to hear the answer to know that he would be walking out a free man. Once again he thought of the blonde woman's blue eyes.

He smiled. He had a promise to God to keep.


	2. Justice is Served

**A/N: For those of you who have been keeping up with the story before, I have changed the name of Captain Falcon's and Samus's pub to _The Blue Falcon_. Sorry about the confusion! It only just occurred to me now that it made a lot more sense to put it that way. ****  
**

**Thank you everybody who read and reviewed. :)**

**Pairings include - Captain Falcon x Samus, Marth x Peach x Ike triangle. And a little bit of Link x Zelda.**

**I, Lady Paprika, do not own anything associated with Nintendo which includes its characters, settings and anything that falls under its ownership. I also do not own _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens or any quotes that I may have inserted here that belong to him.**

* * *

"Mr. Greil," Marth said, after Fox had pronounced him innocent and the courtroom was being emptied. It had been close; nine to seven in his favor. Nintaindoners tended to look unfavorably upon Pariseans so he wasn't surprised how close he'd been to being found guilty. They thought Pariseans unstable, incapable of understanding how to run a country. Their views weren't entirely unfounded... after all, Parisea was on the brink of an all out revolution; one that Marth had avoided by coming here.

"Call me Ike," the man said. He stood up a little unsteadily from their table. Marth noted once again the bored look on his face - it was as if whatever he had seen so far in his life was uninteresting.

"Ike then," Marth stammered. "Thank you, thank you so much."

Ike offered him a half-hearted smile - as if he really didn't appreciate Marth's gratitude. "It's in my job description."

"Well, at least let me offer you a drink," Marth said in a last-ditch attempt. He would have been lying if he said that he was doing this out of complete kindness. Ever since Marth had fled to Nintaindo, he had been completely alone. It was hard to make friends once a Nintaindoner noticed the slight Parisean accent Marth had.

Ike stopped short and Marth knew he had his attention. _Brilliant, indifferent and an alcoholic, _Marth deduced, if the wobbly demeanor served as any indication to his drinking habits. He could see Ike trying to struggle against himself. On one hand, he did not want seem to want to talk to Marth, but on the other hand, the promise of alcohol was seductive. Marth waited until, finally he said, "Okay, sure. Why not?"

They walked out of the courtroom together into the bright sunlight. Marth could not help glancing at Ike over and over. They had the same features in terms of the same shade of hair, eyes and skin color. But that was where their similarities ended. Ike was slightly taller and hardened and carried himself in a disaffected way. Marth cared about the way he walked, talked and it showed by the way he carried himself that he was very conscious of himself.

Cars rattled by. The streets were littered with newspapers and broken beer bottles, but these were the wasteful byproducts of a thriving country, Marth thought bitterly, not one of a country that was wasting away into death and desperation.

He looked up to see a car in front of him, deep blue, and his blood ran cold, upon noticing the car's ID. "Let's go the other way," he said to Ike. "I'm sure there are plenty of bars there."

But it was too late. The car began to reverse, stopping short where they were. Windows rolled down and sitting in the car was one of the men Marth had been trying to run away from ever since he'd left Parisea. "Marth! How good it is to see you," a man in the car rasped. "Mind if I buy you a drink?"

Marth's jaw clenched but he tried to smile. "I would love to, but I'm taking a friend out for a drink." He gestured to Ike who was looking at the make of the shiny car with interest.

"Powerful friend of yours?" Ike asked politely..

The person in the car, a man with a smooth, fox-like face and platinum blond hair that almost looked gray, smiled. "A friend? Ah no, we are of the same blood. Allow me to introduce myself. I am a Lowell. I'm Marth's uncle. Why don't we all grab a drink? Perhaps we could all catch up? I would like to hear the story of how you both are acquainted after all. And maybe you could perhaps tell me why you are avoiding your family?"

Ike shrugged as if to say, "Why not?" Sighing, Marth nodded. Better to get this done with now, rather than later.

As he slid into the car's leather passenger seat he looked at the car's ID again that was plastered on the car's rear window in a curlicue font.

M-4-R-Q-U-1-S.

•••

"His name is Frank Jaeger Lowell. That probably explains everything, and right now, my sources say he's in Nintaindo on some family business," Samus said it all in a rush. She was chewing the end of her plastic straw as she looked down at her handwritten notes with concentrated interest as well as disgust.

"'Scuse me? What makes a Lowell so different from the rest of the aristocrats that run this country?" Olimar asked. His plate that had contained fried shrimp had been wiped clean. Samus had assured him the food was on the house and he had not tasted anything delicious in a week, perhaps because he hadn't eaten _anything_ in a week. He had been careful to eat slowly so as not to throw up from the richness of the food.

Samus bit down on her straw harder. The yellow scarf she'd been knitting lay on her lap, still not fully finished. "The Lowells are the worst. No hearts, see? You saw how they treated your son's death. Like it was nothing. That's how they are. And it runs in their family too." She spat her straw back into its grimy cup. "They take everything and they never pay for their crimes." Her blue eyes glowed an almost green shade, furious and searing. Olimar bit his lip, waiting for her to give him more instructions.

When she did not look up from her cup, he cleared his throat to let her know he was still there. She looked up in surprise as if she'd forgotten he was sitting there before sliding papers towards him. "This is what you need to get into the estate. Typically, unless you are a personal guest, you need to fill out forms in advance to enter the place. It's a precaution to them, since they have made many enemies. However, these should get you through. The so-called Marquis won't get away this time," she finished grimly.

"Marquis?"

Samus's snort was full of venom. "His car's ID is customized to say Marquis. But that title won't save him from what he deserves."

"And what does he deserve?" Olimar asked.

Samus slammed her fist on the table. From his counter, Captain Falcon gave her an alarmed glance, but she ignored this. "You know what to do, Olimar. You're scared," she said, and here her voice softened when she noticed that he seemed alarmed. As if she understood his fear, as if she'd been there already. "You don't want to hurt anybody, that much is true. But look what this Lowell did to your son. Do you think he was sorry for it?"

For the first time, Olimar was aware of the pain and anguish that had somehow tangled itself into his heart. He didn't know how or when it had happened, just that it did. He remembered the way the coin was tossed like trash towards Olimar. The way it had glinted maliciously in the dirt and his son's blood soaking his clothes and that stupid Pikmin doll. What drove him was no longer white, hot anger. Now it was it was something lucid, calculating. There was no time for tears or doubts. He shook his head.

"So what are you going to do about that?" She was watching him carefully.

"Make him pay."

Samus smiled. She pushed the silver coin back to Olimar along with a folded parchment with a stamped black seal. "I have a feeling you'll need this. Take it. My only payment is seeing that you are fully satisfied. And don't forget to deliver this note to the Marquis."

Olimar picked up the coin and papers. "Thank you," he said. She had begun to pick up her knitting. He noticed she was not using the bright yellow yarn anymore. Now she was using blood red to knit some sort of design into it but he couldn't tell what it was.

And that was the last time he saw her; knitting furiously, like she was building up flames that could no longer be quenched.

•••

Ike drank deeply the way he usually did. He remembered his first drink and the way it had seemed to burn a path down his throat before he'd coughed up half of it. But he was so used to it that the burn now felt good, almost like something in the background. It promised him what would come afterward and he certainly looked forward to the buzz. Ike honestly could not remember when he turned to drinks for salvation but he knew it was a decision he had not regretted since. How could you regret, he had thought, when you felt nothing at all?

"So Ike, how did you and Marth meet?" Frank asked.

Ike shrugged. He knew that Marth expected him to say he was a close friend. "I'm his defense attorney."

Frank's eyes widened and he grinned a little too wide for Ike's tastes. "Is that so? Why Marth, m'boy, are you in trouble? I could've bailed you out, you know."

Marth gripped his tankard so hard, his knuckles turned a yellowish white. "Not anymore. And I don't need your money."

Frank's eyes widened again in mock surprise. "That so? You got your own money?"

Marth's knuckles turned even whiter before he released his grip on the tankard. "No," he admitted, and Ike saw his ears turn red. Shame, Ike recognized dimly. For some reason or the other Marth had estranged himself from his aristocratic family and he wasn't doing so well without the wealth he was used to.

That was certainly interesting. Ike took another large swallow. Marth seemed to be like one of those guys you only read about in books - wrongly accused, noble, a damn near good guy... Ike suppressed a yawn. There had to be something about Marth that made him tick besides his family. A secret vice perhaps.

Frank took a small sip of his own drink before he grinned. "Well you know how I feel about your... current situation, nephew. What name do you go by nowadays?"

"D'Aulnais."

Frank's grin deepened. "Ah, after your mother then? Pretty woman. A bit of a softie though, don't you think?"

"The only person of my blood that I looked up to," Marth shot back.

Frank only raised his eyebrows. "That hurts, _nephew_," he said, though he looked like he was enjoying the particular shade of red Marth was turning.

"The Lowell family has long been tainted by my father's as well as your actions. I won't have any part in it," Marth said, his voice turning sour and stubborn. Even though he sounded like a sulky kid, Ike had to admire his guts. It wasn't every day that people insulted their own family to their face, let alone one who was very powerful. Though Ike was not overly familiar with the wealthy families that existed in Parisea, he was sure that the name Lowell had come up more than once in the papers.

"Oh yes?" Frank responded, and even though his voice was a lot more calmer, he sounded a lot more dangerous than Marth did. "Is that how you felt before the so-called proletariat started rebelling and before the country turned to shit? You didn't seem to mind then, but when the first sign of trouble arises on the horizon of Parisea you flee like a little coward, adopting your maiden name the way a child runs behind his mother's skirts."

Ike saw the hatred flare up in Marth's eyes as he glared back at his uncle. Ike saw him grip the table so tightly that his shoulders began to shake from the effort of not doing anything that would start a fist fight. _Wise move_, Ike thought as he sized both of them up. Marth was the most feminine guy he'd ever seen and while Frank too looked lithe, he looked far more dangerous than Marth did with the way his eyes seemed focused and calm. As if he were totally in control of this conversation. "You're the one who's making a mistake," Marth said. "I left after learning about your many crimes. You do not care for the working class, and you mock them in horrible ways besides. That is why you are partially to blame for what has happened there."

"Watch your mouth, little boy." Frank downed the rest of his glass in one gulp. "One of these days, it might make you end up in prison."

Marth worked his jaw furiously - for one moment, Ike thought he wouldn't say anything. But as Frank stood up and tossed several silver coins on the table, Marth shot back, "You'd better watch your actions," he retorted. "Otherwise they will suffocate you."

Frank merely chuckled softly. He slammed his glass down squarely and sharply turned without saying another word. Once Ike was sure he was out the door, he let out a low whistle. "No lost love between you two, huh?" He wasn't sure why he said that. Ike always made it his business to not inquire into somebody's private life when he wasn't doing his work. The world, he had decided a long time ago, was a dirty place. It was better not to inquire or get involved at all, unless it was on a business level and he was getting paid for it. He breathed through his nostrils as Marth's face twisted, as if he just realized Ike was there the whole time.

"I am sorry you had to witness that," Marth said, jerking his chin towards the door that Frank had just exited. "I am normally a lot more pleasant to converse with. My uncle is somebody I generally do not get along with."

"And why is that?" Ike found himself asking.

Marth shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard of the infamous Lowells." And here, Ike noted that he slurred his words a little. He was already drunk? He must be a lightweight drinker.

Ike shrugged. "Nintaindoners don't really concern themselves with Pariseans much."

Marth gave a brittle laugh. "And that's why I moved here. Don't get me wrong, the Lowells are stinking rich, but that's all they are. I wanted more."

"More than infinite wealth? You must be hard to please."

Marth gave Ike a strange look and for one long moment, Ike saw himself reflected into Marth's eyes; a more desperate, lonely version of him. Then Marth smiled, showing his teeth and the moment was over when his eyes lowered to study the opacity of the bottom of his cup. "I sound like quite a spoiled child, don't I? Truth is, I'm searching for a woman."

He had made it perfectly clear that he did not want to broach the subject anymore when he brought up the woman so Ike played along. "A woman?"

Marth pushed his empty glass away. "She's my good luck charm, see?"

No, Ike did not see. But he nodded anyway as if he did. "She a looker?"

"Hair like the sun. Almost like, if I touched her hair, it would burn me. And then she had eyes like the sea. Pulling and pushing towards me and compensating for all that hair." He was no longer making any more sense, but then Ike was never one for poetry.

"I've never seen the sea," Ike admitted.

Marth reeled backwards as if this piece of news repulsed him. "Are you mad? Never seen the sea?"

"Well some of us can't afford to see it," Ike said, although that was not entirely true. He had just never seen the point of going and he'd never had any friends to take along with him.

Marth flushed a darker red than he already was. "Sorry. Keep forgetting how it must be for the proletariat."

It was sentences like these, Ike decided, that made him wonder what on earth possessed Marth to think he could be a blue or white collared man. Still, there was something about Marth that made Ike want to like him, despite the somewhat disparaging comments he made.

He was still thinking about his new-found friendship with Marth, not noticing where he was looking at until he realized he must be staring at the sea amongst the dimness of the pub. Her eyes kept pushing and pulling at him as if she was searching for somebody and rejecting those that weren't what she sought.

"Is that her?" Ike asked. When he heard no response, he glanced at Marth whose gaze was already locked on her.

•••

"Wait outside here. I'm going to go inside to search for Zelda," Peach told her father.

"A pub is no place for a lady to go in alone," Dr. Mario responded. Under his mustache, Peach could see him frowning which made her smile.

"Oh papa," she said softly. "I'm not some stupid fourteen year old anymore. I'm nineteen! Besides, this isn't Parisea where laws are broken with no consequences. I will be fine."

She watched his bushy eyebrows furrow as he studied her, as if realizing for the first time that it had been five years since he'd last seen her. "I feel as if I have only just found you, and now you are slipping away from me."

She laughed. "Do not be so anxious, father. I will be back once I find Zelda. I wish I could bring you with me, but," and here she brushed the pad of her thumb underneath the skin of his right eye. "Until we get your new monocle, I fear that busy places will be an enemy to you, since you cannot watch your step as quickly."

Dr. Mario sighed. "Perhaps you are right. But make it quick."

Peach hugged him tightly yet briefly before she entered in the pub. It was dim inside and she couldn't quite place her surroundings yet. It smelled slightly damp, as if there were too many people crammed into one place. She picked up her skirts and began to walk across the creaky wooden floor, trying to search for her pointy-eared servant. Zelda had been the daughter of her wet nurse and governess, Impa. Even after Impa contracted Devil's Pox and died from it, Zelda and Peach had remained close. Peach had urged Zelda to flee first to Nintaindo and to seek a house there, while she had stayed behind with Luigi to help find her father.

After a few moments of searching, she came to the conclusion that Zelda had not arrived yet and with a resigned sigh, she began to search for a place to sit and wait. Before she could do so however, she felt a sweaty palm grab at her arm and she recoiled in shock.

"My lady luck," he said, and when she twisted to see who had touched her, she saw a man with lank, blue hair that fell over dark eyes. He was grinning tipsily at her and he looked very filthy and very drunk.

"I beg your pardon? Lady luck?" She arched her eyebrows, trying to emphasize how coldly she felt towards him.

To her surprise, the man's eyes lit up suddenly. "Ah, so you speak it then?" Peach had no idea what he was talking about until he spoke again. "You understand and speak Parish as if it were your mother tongue. I knew you were Parisean when I first saw you. Imagine my lady luck being Parisean, eh?" He laughed bitterly at the joke.

It was only now that Peach realized that he'd been speaking Parish and that she had responded in the same language. "Wait, you're Parisean?" Peach asked, forgetting about his nickname for her and switching to English.

"He's not _only_ Parisean. He's drunk."

And for the first time Peach saw the man who was not gazing at her. Bristly blue hair, almost the exact shade of the Parisean man and quiet, calm eyes. He looked indifferent, as if he didn't know what else to be.

"I can see that."

"Can you? Does my lady luck have a name? _Mine's_ Marth D'Aulnais. This here's m'friend, Ike Greil. Best friend," he added as if that made all the difference in the world. He stumbled to his feet and though he was unsteady on his feet, he managed to pull back a scrubbed wooden chair for her to sit in. Like the perfect gentleman, Peach couldn't help thinking wryly to herself.

Later on, she would wonder what made her sit in the seat. She normally did not associate herself with drunks. But there was something about the Parisean accent, the way Marth's words tapered off. Or perhaps it was the fact that, with that open grin, he was very attractive, despite the fact that he looked like he hadn't showered in two weeks.

"Peach Toadstool," she said, and Marth's face suddenly stiffened, as if he were trying to remember her name. "I just moved here."

"But you speak English as if it's your first language," the man to her right, Ike, said. He still wasn't looking at her, as if she scared him. Maybe, Peach thought, he wasn't used to conversing with women.

"I was taught English and Parish at the same time," Peach responded. "My father told me it was essential to know English. He says the language will someday take over the world."

Ike looked at if he wanted to smile. "Don't you think that would be simpler though? If everybody knew the same language?"

Peach shrugged. "It hardly makes a difference to me." She had never thought much about languages even though she picked them up pretty easily. Ike looked surprised at her answer, like he hadn't expected her to say something he obviously thought the same of.

"It should." Marth's voice was unusually quiet, somber. "Language is one of the most beautiful things in the world. It gives people a sense of identity, community and culture. The way different languages are structured gives people a different way to think. If English takes over the world then we lose a part of what makes us unique if we are all the same and if language defines culture then it means we'll lose different cultures." For one moment, Marth looked like he wanted to add more. But then he laughed self-consciously. "But what do I know?"

Peach said nothing. But Ike said, "Like I said, my friend here is drunk."

"So you are his friend," Peach found herself responding. For the first time, he looked at her and his expression was wary, guarded as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of her question.

With some astonishment apparent in his voice, Ike said, "I suppose I am."

Peach laughed at how surprised he sounded. He seemed to think it was funny too because after a moment he smiled shyly, as if he weren't quite used to stretching his mouth that way.

"_There _you are, Peach! I've been looking all over for you!" Zelda exclaimed. On her right side was her betrothed, Link. And on her left side was Dr. Mario who was squinting at Marth.

Peach immediately jumped to her feet. "Please excuse my rude manners," she said blushing. "This is an old, dear friend of mine, Zelda Hyrule, her fiance Link Avalon, and my father Doctor Mario Toadstool." She turned to her friends, "This one is Ike Greil, and the other is Marth D'Aulnais."

Zelda smiled impatiently at them, while Link inclined his head. "It's lovely to meet you both. I wish we could chat for a longer time, but we're in a hurry." To Peach she said, "Our cab has been waiting outside for almost ten minutes!"

Dr. Mario was frowning at Marth, as though trying to place him. "You look familiar."

"Do I?" Marth said, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

But Dr. Mario shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, but it must be a mistake. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of speaking to a D'Aulnais. Pardon," Dr. Mario said, and although his voice was pleasant he was still looking at Marth through narrowed eyes. "Any friend of Peach's is one that I shall welcome as my own. Would you care to have lunch with us?"

Marth looked like he wanted to agree but Ike cut him off. "We really must get ourselves cleaned up."

"But I'd like to see you again sometime," Marth added hurriedly. He was staring at Peach who felt the air turning hotter than it already was. She stared back at him for a moment and noted that while she originally thought his eyes were black, they were actually a dark, serene blue.

"Of course you may."

•••

That infernal nephew of his, Jaegar thought to himself as his butler Yoshi, drove through Nintaindo's streets. What were the odds that Marth _D'Aulnais_ had survived that trial? He was a black mark to the Lowell's name, that was for sure. Nobody, he thought grimly, nobody would dare tarnish the Lowell name by leaving it voluntarily and in disgust. The little scumbag should have been marked for execution, but of course that _lawyer_ friend of his had saved the day.

Settling deep into his soft leather seat, Frank inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the smell of the new car. He glanced outside the window, noticing how the landscape gradually changed as Nintaindo became Parisea. While Parisea was very dangerous, Frank still had some business there to take care of and at the end of the day, the Lowell estate still was home and would be as well protected as ever. He was not too concerned over the rumors swirling around that the working class was dangerously close to a rebellion. There was even talk that they had called themselves the Strikers, like they were some sort of organized crime mob. The car cruised to a halt. He rolled his eyes at the thought of an organized crime mob and stepped out of his car and glanced at the huge mansion that loomed ahead of him.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the opulence that the Lowell estate exuded. The mansion was often mistaken as a castle because of its aged walls, and the pointed towers that accompanied it. Some thought it looked cold and did not really look like a house, but Frank disagreed. The estate was brimming with power which to him, spoke of home.

He walked through the double doors as his guards murmured, "Lord Lowell."

_Lord Lowell._ Ever since Marth's father passed on, he had taken charge of the estate and everybody now referred to him as _the_ Lord Lowell, rather than Lord Jaegar. He supposed he had Marth to thank for this. The sniveling boy had fled upon his father's death, with nothing else to tie him to the estate. His father's iron fist personality was the only reason the boy had stayed and Frank admittedly did not try his hardest to keep Marth around. Better that Marth was in prison or dead. He would have a word with Ganondorf and Bowser the next time he was in Nintaindo. What was he paying those fools for anyway?

It was in his private quarters, where Frank began to slip into more comfortable clothes, when he first heard the noise. He whirled around, his hand automatically going to his gun. Better a guard dead than himself, after all. People died every day and he would be hard pressed if his life was taken first.

But there was nobody there. Warily, he turned to his bedside table to leave his wallet and pocket watch and that was when he noticed it. A piece of folded up parchment. The seal was curiously black with an ornate _S. _He studied it for awhile before breaking it open.

_This, from S. STRIKER_.

He frowned, staring at the letters. But whoever had sent him the message had made it untraceable, as the message was typed, rather than handwritten. He held it up to the lamp on his bedside table to see if there was any other hidden message or a watermark, stating where the parchment had come from, when-

_WHAM!_

Pain blossomed at the back Frank's head and for a moment, all he saw was white hot pain. He stumbled onto the satin sheets of his bed and collapsed facedown, clutching at the back of his head with one hand and fumbling for his gun with the other, but where was it?

"Looking for this?" He felt small hands flip him over roughly and he saw his gun in the hands of a boy; no, a very short man.

"How did you get in here?" Frank asked, but he was treated with another blow to the head, far more painful than the first. _Enough is enough,_ he thought furiously. He grappled for his bedside table, felt underneath the table and barely managed to flip the switch located there before the strange man wrenched him away and sat on his lap and began to punch him in the face repeatedly.

Though he could barely see, Frank could register the blind hatred in the man's eyes but he could not remember him at all.

The lack of recognition seemed to register on Frank's face because the man's face contorted into something feral as he shouted, "Remember me? Olimar? You killed my son!"

It registered with Frank a minute later. The boy he'd run over, when he'd taken the car himself to meet up with Bowser and Ganondorf. Somehow, his mind cleared upon that realization, like it was important for him to understand who this man was before his survival instincts kicked in. "One less mouth to feed. I did you a favor," he wheezed and his hands reached upward, searching for a vulnerable location.

Olimar's eyes burned even worse at those words. "Where is your heart?"

Frank wondered too, but before he had time to dwell on it further his hands found its target - Olimar's throat. And he began to squeeze. Olimar gasped and tried to reach for Frank's own throat, but his hands only barely grazed Frank's throat. Frank could barely see at this point. His right eye was swollen shut and he had to squint with his left eye to prevent any blood from getting into it. He barely registered Olimar reach into one of his large pockets and pull out a blood-red doll. Frank stared at it for a moment. An eye was missing, and the mouth was actually a grin full of stitches. It looked like the grotesque version of one of those Pikmin dolls Marth had used to own ten years ago. Was it read because it was drenched in... _blood__?_

Frank began to squeeze harder, but it did not deter Olimar from stuffing the doll over Frank's face, effectively suffocating him. In a state of panic, Frank inhaled deeply, but he realized too late that this was a mistake. His nostrils burned and he began to cough violently against the filthy fabric of the doll that was pressed against him. He felt like he was burning up on the inside. "Poetic justice," Olimar whispered, as Frank's hands began to weaken around his windpipe. "You kill my son, so it's only fittin' that my son would come back to haunt you." Frank had no idea what Olimar was talking about; he only assumed that the doll had belonged to that boy he had run over.

"I have... money..." Frank said in one last desperate effort. His hands slid off Olimar's throat. He was dying, he knew it. Too much poison had entered his lungs, into his bloodstream. He could feel his muscles begin to spasm.

"I know," Olimar said, and seemingly satisfied that Frank had inhaled enough of the poison to kill him. He rummaged inside one of his pockets and pulled out a shiny silver coin. It winked at him merrily, a slap to the face. He tossed it on him where it landed directly on top of where Frank's heart was supposed to be.

It was becoming increasingly hard to stay conscious. The pain was so bad. _So this is how it feels to be burned alive_, he thought to himself in a sort of detached manner.

And then, as he waited for death to come, he heard the doors burst open because _finally_ the damn police and guards came nearly fifteen minutes after he pressed the switch. Gunshots rang and it was music to his ears when he heard Olimar's dead body drop to the floor because justice was finally served.


	3. Vengeance

**I, Lady Paprika, do not own anything associated with Nintendo which includes its characters, settings and anything that falls under its ownership. I also do not own _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens or any quotes that I may have inserted here that belong to**

* * *

~˚**One Year Later**˚~

Ike abhorred tea.

Unfortunately, Peach loved it which was why he often found himself struggling through one cup every week. It was the only time that he got to spend any sort of time alone with her. Usually, she was with Marth or Link and Zelda and even though Ike enjoyed Marth's friendship and Link and Zelda were kind to him, he mostly enjoyed Peach's presence. It had been four months since their meeting in the pub and ever since then Ike had formed a fast and easy friendship with Peach as well as Marth.

Peach was beyond lovely; she was a beacon of light to him. It was she who had discovered his addiction to alcohol and had tried to bring him out of it. "Drink tea instead," she had suggested and firmly set up a weekly date for them both to have tea. Ike didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't like the hot beverage at all, and he found he enjoyed being with her which is why he had not objected to their meetings.

He enjoyed everything about Peach. The way she radiated warmth as light and as heavy as the sunlight. He enjoyed the way how when, he made her laugh really hard, she sometimes snorted and would laugh in embarrassment even louder. He loved the slight chip on her right tooth that he could see when she smiled hard. He enjoyed the way she meticulously would make sure everything at her house look perfect and in place, like a show room. Most of all, he enjoyed the way she seemed genuinely interested in everything he had to say. That was certainly new. The only other time he had experienced this sort of attention was from Marth.

"Can you keep a secret?" Peach asked now. She picked up a silver-coated pair of sugar tongs; Ike had gifted them to her when her birthday had passed a month ago. She picked stirred in three sugar cubes into her tea. Judging by the way she swirled her tea, Ike could tell she seemed nervous but excited.

Dread ate a pit into Ike's stomach. He forced himself to smile. He was too late.

•••

"I am in love with your daughter."

Marth let the words hang in the air while he silently berated himself. _Really? "I am in love with your daughter?" Marth, what were you thinking?_ Marth thought. But it was too late to take back the words; besides, they were true.

He watched Dr. Mario in front of him carefully the way a hunted man would eye a tiger but the older man gave no sign that he wanted to talk. The glare on his new monocle obscured Marth from seeing one eye; the other looked patient. He was leaning back on the velvet couch, the ankle of one leg draped over the other thigh, his arms spread over the back of the loveseat.

Encouraged by that, Marth continued on. "Since business has been going consistently well ever since I opened _AlteanWare_ I have been thinking about asking Peach her hand in marriage. I cannot do this without your approval."_  
_

"I see," Dr. Mario responded. He leaned forward, uncrossing his leg so that both feet touched the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees, bringing his fingertips to steeple in front of him as he regarded Marth. "I can't allow you to marry my daughter in good conscience."

Marth swallowed. "P-pardon?" he asked.

"You've been lying."

Marth felt his fingers grow cold at Dr. Mario's accusation. "I don't understand what you mean," he lied.

Dr. Mario furrowed his eyebrows and laced his fingers together, looking at them. "Did you honestly think that you could hide your identity, _Lowell_?"

It was the name that made the hair at the back of Marth's neck prickle upward. He had not heard the name ever since hearing of his Uncle's death in the papers. The inheritance had naturally passed to Marth, but he had not gone to the Lowell estate to pick it up. "I..." he swallowed.

Dr. Mario's hands were interlocked so tightly that they were shaking. "I will _not_ allow Peach to marry a man who cannot tell her the truth, especially if it is a dark one."

Marth's face fell. Dr. Mario's mustache twitched. "Marth," he said, and it was soft, yielding. "You are a fine man. I can tell by the way you have worked so hard to distance yourself from your family. But running away from your problems will not solve them. You must confront them. That is the only way you may be able to carry out any sort of vengeance or retribution towards your family name. It may be unfair because you probably have never done anything wrong in your life, but that's what a family title is all about."

Marth flinched. "How would you know anything about my family name?"

Dr. Mario sighed. "The Lowells were always notorious, and nobody knows that better than I do. Strange..." he muttered more to himself, before he glanced at Marth again. "I will leave you with this; you can only marry Peach if she knows who you really are."

Marth thought about it over and over. But at this point what did he have left?

He squared his shoulders.

•••

"You don't sound very happy," Peach said.

Ike did not. Actually, now more than ever, what he really wanted was a drink but the damned tea house did not sell any liquor. He sighed, and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm happy that you're happy," he finally said. "How far along are you?"

"Well," Peach said, her cheeks turning pink. "I'd hazard a guess and say three months?" She stared at Ike, frowning slightly. "You're mad aren't you? I know it's not very proper of a lady to bed a man before marriage but..." she trailed off. Ike tried not to notice how she seemed to glow, thinking about it. "He's marrying me," she said firmly as if she was trying to convince herself. "He said he would."

"Of course he would," Ike muttered. After all, Marth was the nobleman. The gentleman, the one who knew how to charm all the ladies. The one with the dark, mysterious past. He practically was a man who every girl swooned over in books.

Whereas Ike was a mess. A working man, brilliant but not prominent in his firm, rumpled clothes and a recovering alcoholic. Girls did not fall in love with characters like him. "Ike?" Peach reached out across the table and rested her hand on top of his.

It was too much. Her kindness, her happiness, he flinched and swiped his hand away from her's. "I _love_ you!"

It was a mistake and he knew it as he stared at her face grow slack in shock. She hadn't expected it. Her outstretched hand retracted slowly back into her lap. "What?" she whispered.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know, Peach. You were the only girl who... who cared about me. You and Marth," Ike said, his voice unexpectedly catching on his best friend's voice. He waited a few moments to collect himself. "He's a good man," he finally said and that wasn't a lie either. When it came down to it, Marth was healthier for Peach. What was Ike? Always abandoned, no family, not as much wealth, no manners...

"Ike, I... I'm so stupid, I should have known..."

He brushed her stammering aside. "You couldn't have known. You were happy. Happy people find it hard to spot unhappiness." _Get over it, Ike_, he commanded himself.

"Yes, but I'm so sorry," Peach said, and her eyebrows lifted upwards. "I didn't know and Ike, I _do._ I do love you! But just not the same way that I do Marth. I care about you. If he were not in the picture..." her voice trailed off with a promise that she didn't know was true._  
_

He hated the way her face looked right now. As if it were all her fault. So he smiled, and told the lie she wanted to hear. "I know, Peach. Maybe you would have, maybe you wouldn't have. But the fact remains that Marth makes you happy and that you are pregnant with his child. It makes sense that you two are marrying each other. My best friends! I am so very happy, you know. If you ever need anything from me, I will only deliver. I owe you both my life."

Peach stared at him for one long moment. He could tell that she was trying to figure out how best to respond, but she had no words and for once he enjoyed her silence and the way her eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears.

"Peach!" Marth's voice cut in between them, making Peach jolt. The moment was over and she surreptitiously rubbed at her eyes before she turned to joyfully greet her lover. "There's something I need to tell you. I should have told you a long time ago, but the truth was I was scared you would leave me."

"What is it, my love?" Peach asked, and for the first time Ike realized how her voice seemed to soften when she addressed him, as her voice turned to a caress. He tried not to notice these small things.

"Oh hello, Ike," Marth said, noticing him for the first time. Ike got up to leave but Marth ushered him in his seat. "You may stay. You already know this about me." He faced Peach and knelt on the floor, panting from running the whole way. "Peach, D'Aulnais is my maiden name."

Peach simply blinked at him. "Is this the part where you're going to tell me that you're a Lowell?"

For one long moment Marth could only stare at her with an uncomprehending look on his face. He then turned to Ike, sputtering, "Did you tell her?"

Ike held his hands up, conveying the gesture that he had nothing to do with it.

"Don't fault Ike," Peach said and gently put her hands on either side of Marth's face and directed his face to her's. "I'd been keeping up with Parisean news and I heard rumors that one more Lowell was alive and well in Nintaindo. I was curious to see who it was, so I did some research on old noble families in Parisea. I looked up the Lowell family tree and realized your mother was a D'Aulnais and that the last heir to the Lowell name was named Marth."

"So you know then..."

"And it doesn't matter to me, not one bit," Peach responded.

"Not even if I asked you to marry you?" Marth whispered and there was such wonder in his eyes that Peach smiled.

For a brief moment, Peach's eyes flitted towards Ike as if asking if this was all okay. Ike's heart was screaming _no don't!_ But instead he found himself giving an imperceptible nod of his head. The look she gave him was one of utmost gratification before she got to her knees so that she could see Marth eye to eye. "Especially if you asked me to marry me," she said before placing her mouth over his.

Ike downed the rest of his tea.

He abhorred it.

•••

A year had done Parisea a lot worse. The bourgeoisie were nonexistant, the lucky having fled the country with a few belongings. The others who had stayed were dead, their carcasses hung from trees like overripe, rotten fruit. The proletariat roamed the streets, hungry and on the prowl. On the grimy walls were crude streaks of wine - or was that blood? - that spelled out _MURDER_ all over the place. It was rumored that the king and queen had already been captured and sentenced to death. The revolution had begun and blood ran more freely than any other beverage.

In _Blue Falcon,_ seemingly away from the frenzy, Samus sat at her usual booth, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor as she waited for her informant to deliver the news. At a table nearby, Captain Falcon sat, going through his billing book and listening to her heel. He thought that was certainly strange. Samus was mostly cold, shrewd and calculating. She hardly betrayed her true impatience by tapping her heel.

"I saw him about a year ago," the man said. Captain Falcon couldn't tell how he looked like due to the cloak he was wearing. But he was unnaturally tall and brawny, judging by his size, that much he could tell. "He's in Nintaindo, alive and happy. As a matter of fact, I think he's getting married soon if my sources are accurate, which they should be."

"Is _that_ so? I was told all the Lowells were dead," Samus responded as she picked up her scarf again. Captain Falcon had not seen her take out the scarf and add to it in almost a year, but now it had resurfaced.

"That is hardly the case. He confirmed who he was when he went to court a year ago. He goes by his mother's name now - D'Aulnais. Probably why you haven't heard of him before," he responded. He sat on the seat opposite her's and slurped his drink up noisily. He sighed heavily, as though he hadn't had a good drink in a long while which was the case for most Pariseans nowadays.

Samus raised an eyebrow. She began to knit a few rows faster in deftly switching from yellow to red and back. "Why was he in court?"

"Rumor has it that his uncle wanted him executed so he could have all the fortune. So he hired a couple of thugs to claim they'd seen him doing a bit of treason which would automatically get him executed if he were found guilty. But by a stroke of luck, it seems he was cleared."

Samus snorted. "Why am I not surprised? Just another reason we must dispose of the Lowells. It really is a shame that Jaegar could not kill off Cornelius's son. If he's the spawn of that man, he must be just like his father. This just won't do." She abandoned her needlework for a moment, her emerald eyes burning like coals in the dim lighting. "I'm afraid we cannot do anything while he's in Nintaindo... their laws will protect him certainly. But," she said thoughtfully. "If we lured him here..." To the chaos, Falcon thought. Where the proletariat were biased against all nobles no matter if they had a clean record.

The man shifted carefully. "That can easily be arranged if we imprison one of his staff. As it is, the man who drove me here is none other than the man who used to be their chauffeur for many years. Upon Jaegar's death, Yoshi left their services. He has been under the Lowell's employment since Marth has been a child. Perhaps he may be compelled to come here, were he to learn that his employee was in danger."

Samus considered it for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure it would work. However, you have a point that this may be our best shot. Very well," she said in a tone of finality that made Captain Falcon, shudder. The voice she used was akin to the whistling noise a guillotine made upon being released to do its business. "Capture Yoshi, make him write a letter to Marth saying that he's been found guilty and will die."

"Why can't you do it?" the cloaked man demanded, but Samus silenced him with one look; Captain Falcon saw the cloaked man shrink away and saw the look of extreme madness in Samus's eyes, like wildfire that could never be put out.

"I have to find out any incriminating information on this Marth that I can. I need to make sure that _this_ time, he won't be saved. This time he will not escape his due retribution."

The man dared not contradict Samus; instead, he nodded and got up, bowing. "Consider it done." He left the premises.

Samus was almost finished with her knitting by the time Captain Falcon gathered the courage to sit in the same seat the other man had been sitting earlier. "Are you alright?" he asked in a low voice.

Captain Falcon remembered the first time he'd met Samus. She had been working as a cook for a doctor. She had been scrawny, but those fire-green eyes stuck out. They were so starved, yet so _powerful. _Captain Falcon shuddered. He had thought after their five years of married life that she would somehow soften over the years, especially after Cornelius's death which she had been responsible for. But it had only made her thirst for blood even more insatiable.

"My job isn't done until _all_ the Lowells pay," she had snarled.

There was so much rage there that it was hard to spot what really fueled it - the horror and sense of loneliness that only a woman who had lost her whole family could feel. Falcon understood a little of it; he had been an orphan himself for as long as he could remember. It was what had drawn him to her initially. But now he knew that she had never properly recovered from being the last of her family and maybe she never would.

Samus looked up at Falcon, and for a fraction of a second, he thought her eyes softened upon seeing him. But he realized he must have imagined it for a minute later she snipped the yarn off, signifying she was finally over. "I haven't been this fine in days. Soon my love, my work shall be complete."

"But you hardly know who this boy is. What if he's not like his uncle and father? What if he's more of his mother?" Falcon asked.

Samus fixed him with an insolent stare. "The Lowells must _all_ pay for their crimes. Their blood must never tarnish humanity ever again. I don't care if this Marth is a saint. As long as he is alive, I will always hunt for him."

Falcon reached out across the table and grabbed her working hands making them grow still. "I'm worried about you. You're thirst for vengeance is alarming me. I fear it will kill you one day and I do not know what I will do without you."

She shrugged his hands away. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "If anybody is dying, it won't be me."

Taking a deep breath, Falcon faced away from her; he didn't want her to see the hurt written all over his face. She would only call it weakness. Because as much as Falcon thought about just leaving Samus's little _Stealth Strikers_ business she had going on the side, he realized he still needed her. He still admired the fire, even if he thought she was crazy and dangerous. He still wanted her.

It killed him that she so obviously didn't feel the same. He glanced sadly at the scarf she was knitting. A long time ago, four years ago when she had first started knitting it, he had naively thought it was for him.

But now he realized that it was just a list of blood.

The first name read _CORNELIUS LOWELL_.

The second read _FRANK JAEGAR LOWELL_.

And the last, the one she was currently knitting read, _MARTH LOWELL._

Her conquests.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked. She often did before a "conquest." She had eradicated half the D'Aulnais's before they fled as well as some of the Kojimas. She had completely wiped out the Glaces, not to mention the Tazmilys, but before she went on a conquest, she disappeared off to do some research.

"This time I'm heading to Shadow Moses Asylum." She refused to elaborate further.

•••

As Samus had hoped, Marth did indeed react to the letter that ended up in his hands two weeks after his and Peach's marriage. "I can't believe he's even alive. But I must clear his name," Marth said, his voice muffled by the way his hands covered his face. For a long time, he sat there with Peach at his side, her arms circled around him. "I have to go back," he said finally.

It was as if Peach had been doused with icy cold water; she withdrew her hands swiftly from him and pressed her lips tightly together before saying, "You can't."

Marth sat back to face her, noting her reaction. "Why not?"

"As much as you do not want to be, you _are_ a Lowell! Parisea is in chaos right now. There is no more order. They will kill you if they find out your identity."

Marth chuckled. "Don't be so melodramatic, my sweet."

Peach's face turned a deep shade of red. "I'm not being melodramatic, Marth. I'm being realistic. Don't go," she begged.

"Why not?" The same question determinedly being repeated. He tried to wrap a hand around her shoulder but she shrugged it off.

"Because we're married, because our child must know his father, because we're a family and _that's _more important than your quest for honor!" she snapped, before realizing what she had said, that she may have gone too far. "I'm just saying," she began in a more normal voice. "I'm just saying that _this_ is your family now. You, me, and him," she said, placing a hand on her belly. She had just entered her second trimester and her belly was starting to swell._  
_

Marth bit his lip; he did not know how to answer. He loved Peach with all his heart but there were some things that she just could not understand. She failed to understand that Marth _needed_ this, it was in his blood. "Yoshi is my longtime friend. He was the only person who told me I should run and that he would cover for me. He and my mother were the ones who made me who I am. Peach, I've got to go."

Peach got up and walked stiffly towards the window. The afternoon sunlight was a muted gold color, its most radiant because it signified the beginning of its own setting. Then she said, "Fine, I'm coming with you. We will leave tonight." The way her voice seemed tight suggested that Marth could not argue his way out of this.

He didn't like the idea of Peach accompanying him to horrible place, but he knew it was necessary. "Of course," he responded.

By nightfall, the D'Aulnaises had packed all their belongings and had set up a carriage. Dr. Mario, Luigi, Zelda, and Link had also agreed to come along with them. They decided to take a carriage. "Don't want to take a car. We'll give them the impression that we're rich and they'll steal our things quicker," Dr. Mario had cautioned Marth when he had suggested using a car.

Before the six piled into their car, Marth telephoned his best friend. He had not spoken to Ike since the wedding, and he felt compelled to call him.

"Hello?" The voice slipped and slid into Marth's ear from the receiver, a stumbling block. Marth realized he was drunk which was strange. Ike had been mostly been sober for about half a year.

"Ike?"

"Oh, it's you," the voice sighed. "Yes this is Ike."

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Parisea."

There was crackling silence on the other end. Then, "Is Peach going too?"

Marth pinched his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasped the receiver in his hand a lot tighter than was necessary. "She insisted. I know you probably think I'm stupid."

"I always thought you were," Ike responded through the line.

Marth smiled a little at this. "I'm coming back, I know I am. But just in case if I'm not..." he trailed off. "Because there's a distinct possibility that it could happen, I want you to take care of Dr. Mario and Peach, understand?"

The crackling got obnoxiously louder - "I can't hear you," Ike said loudly. "Come home, then we'll talk, okay?" The crackling noise was suddenly replaced with dial tone.

Marth listened to it for some time before he gently replaced the receiver back into its place and walked outside his beloved little house. A shiver climbed up his arms as he boarded the squashed carriage. He tried to take Peach's hand, but she slid her hand away and looked away from him. _She's mad at me_, he realized. He hoped she wouldn't be for too long.

•••

"Don't go," Captain Falcon had begged Samus, but predictably she had shrugged his suggestion off. "This will only end in bad blood."

"Once the wound has been inflicted there is no way to prevent bad blood from spilling out," she shot back before leaving to the courthouse with a package. The package contained two very valuable items. She rode to the courtroom and once she was there, she handed the contents to her lawyer, David.

"You assured me that he would be here soon," David said, passing his hand over the stubble on his jaw. He stared at the contents looking apparently satisfied. "In a courtroom like Nintaindo this would not be enough. He's got to be tried here in Parisea."

They were sitting in the entrance of the courtroom, surveying anybody who would walk in. Apart from two men - one short and stocky, the other long and lean - nobody was around. "He will come," Samus said firmly.

As if her word was to be obeyed, the doors were ushered open and a handsome, lithe figure with blue hair swept in. On his heels was a blond man with strange, pointed ears.

"That's him," Samus whispered.

Snake lifted his eyes to two men and gave a slight nod.

The men who referred to themselves as Kirby and Lucario respectively, jumped to their feet and made a mad dash towards Marth, yelling, "Marth Lowell, you are under arrest for repeated crimes of manslaughter amongst other things. You have the right to remain silent."

Samus could hardly wipe the grin on her face as she watched the blue-haired man topple to the floor with a yell. He stood no chance. The blond man tried to shove Kirby off, Lucario's eyes flashed dangerously and barely had to touch the blond before he went flying across the room, hitting the wall and falling unconscious.

_Finally__,_ she thought to herself.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, sorry, I had to cut this chapter off a bit. I had predicted a character death each chapter, but it seems like that won't be the case - Next chapter will be a lot more violent though.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading. We've got two chapters to go. Cross your fingers, because I'm not sure if I can finish in time! :o**


	4. Retribution

**I, Lady Paprika, do not own anything associated with Nintendo which includes its characters, settings and anything that falls under its ownership. I also do not own _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens or any quotes that I may have inserted here that belong to**

* * *

Zelda had been chewing on her lower lip for several minutes before she heard Ike comment on it.

"You look worried."

She stopped and sighed. "I am. Link is my husband and Marth is one of the kindest people I've met. I could not stand any of them to be harmed."

Ike's face remained impassive at this. Although Zelda and Link had been kind to him over the course of the years, Zelda found his presence very disconcerting as if he had no opinion on anything. Had he ever been passionate about anything but liquor? Peach had always said that he had a heart, but Zelda couldn't see it. His face was always neutral, almost bored, whenever she was in his presence.

As they walked through the streets to the local prison, both remained silent. Then Ike asked almost offhandedly, "How is Peach doing?"

"Worried and since she's you know, with child, it's worse. But otherwise, she's fine." Zelda had heard Peach sobbing hysterically over the pay phone to Ike.

"You've saved him once, please do it again for me," she said, doubling over as if the pain was also physical. Zelda couldn't hear what Ike had said, but whatever it was made Peach stop crying. He had arrived the next day and Dr. Mario forbade Peach from going outside in her condition. He had sent Ike and Zelda instead to try and release Link and Ike instead. Yoshi had been released immediately once Marth had been imprisoned.

As they walked towards the prison, a large, hulking figure brushed against Zelda. He did not mutter an apology which made Zelda turn back at his rudeness. "Hey!" she called out.

The man turned around and Zelda felt her heart screech to a stop. She had not seen his face for a very long time. "Gann?" she asked quietly. She watched his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the name, but his eyes looked horrified on being recognized. "It's me, Zelda! I haven't seen you in such a long time... Since I was employed by the Toadstools in fact! What have you been doing here?" She stepped towards him quickly, but Gann took a step backwards just as quick.

"I-I don't know what you mean," he murmured. "I don't have a family."

Ike narrowed his eyes as he stepped forward past Zelda. "Ganondorf Dragmire. I remember you. The spy who condemned Marth Lowell. Why are you in Parisea?"

Zelda frowned. "Gann's a Parisean. He's not a spy for Nintaindo. He's my brother. He always wanted to be part of the Parisean Intelligence Agency."

Ganondorf looked like he wanted to run but Ike stepped up even closer, blocking his path. "So what is it, then? Are you a Nintaindo spy or a Parisean one? Let me think, are you both?"

Zelda's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

Without warning, Ike grabbed the lapels of Ganondorf's shirt to prevent him from escaping. "If what you are saying is true Zelda, then this man is an opportunist or a double agent. He testified against Marth Lowell in court."

Zelda could not believe it, she turned to her brother - she had not seen him in years. During the stirrings of the revolution she had thought he was dead. She tried to contact him multiple times, but he had never returned any of her calls and letters. To think that he was in Nintaindo for a long time... "Is this true?" she turned to Ganondorf, staring at him straight in the eye.

Ganondorf avoided her eyes for as long as he could before he stared at her. His face was laced with pain. "I didn't want to be a servant my whole life. I was tired of my mundane life. I wanted power."

The truth stung Zelda's ears. "You never returned my calls. I thought you were dead."

Ganondorf looked down, defeated. "I had to destroy my identity. I was spying for both countries. I couldn't have you tying me down. I changed my phone number, my identity in Parisea. Here, they call me Demise as a code name. They do not assume real names here."

Zelda's heart began to beat gradually faster with the information he was telling her. "You... Demise..." she shook her head. "The only demise that you've brought to anyone is yourself."

"Zelda, wait!"

She began to walk away, leaving him with Ike.

•••

Eventually, Ike managed to bring Marth and Link home. He had cut a deal with Demise to clear their names. "Do it, otherwise I will tell everybody you were a Nintaindo spy." Demise had been able to clear their initial charges of trespassing and assault by dropping Dr. Mario's name and saying he was close friend with Marth and Link. Dr. Mario was apparently loved by the proletariat because he had been imprisoned by the bourgeoisie to begin with. His sentence of five years had made him a martyr of sorts.

"We should leave here soon," Peach had begged.

"Can't yet," Marth said, looking exhausted but relieved. "I've got to go a court summons tomorrow that should clear my whole name." He paused for a moment, before admitting, "You were right, Peach. It wasn't a good idea to come back here."

Peach entwined her fingers within his, and kissed him warmly. "As long as you're alive, I don't care what happens."

Ike sat hunched over with his head in his hands a little aways from Peach and Marth. The grim, yet elegant appearance of the Lowell estate was now faded and abandoned. Now it only looked like something to be pitied. The walls were bare, the expensive paintings had been ripped from the walls. The leather couches and elaborate rugs were motheaten. The drapes were coated in layers and layers of dust; the sun had damaged them for good.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Mario was sitting next to him and seemed just as nervous as Ike felt.

Ike lifted his head from his hands and shook it. "I've won cases in Nintaindo, but that's because our country protects criminals. Here, it will be harder, especially considering that Marth is a Lowell."

"But I thought you cleared Marth's name."

"I did," Ike said. "I just have a bad feeling about what may happen next." He paused, looking at Marth and Peach. He had pulled her into his lap and was now feeling her belly, and saying something that made her cheeks turn pink. He turned back to Dr. Mario, trying to ignore the searing feeling of jealousy. He leaned forward so he could speak in a lower voice. "Have you heard of the _Stealth Strikers_?"

From the way Dr. Mario's eyes turned grim, Ike could tell he understood. "Yes, I have. A dedicated group of vigilantes hellbent on bringing any and every noble down. It doesn't matter whether they're guilty or innocent, man or woman, adult or child, as long as you've taken on the name..." Dr. Mario's hands shook violently. "My pipes..." he muttered suddenly, and for one moment, Ike thought he had gone entirely mad. "Where are my pipes?"

"What did you say to him?" Link demanded, a few feet away. Zelda stole a quick glance towards Peach, but she seemed entirely wrapped up with Marth.

"I threw away his pipes and the tools so he would never start working on them again. It seems he closes up whenever he plays as a plumber."

"I just mentioned the _Stealth Strikers_," Ike said. "I just think that they're not done yet."

•••

"Marth Lowell, you have been cleared of the following crime: Entering in Parisea illegally. The witness Dr. Mario can attest that you were here on business and you will be leaving soon."

"That is correct." Marth faced the judge. Rather than seeing Fox's open, honest face the way he had a year ago, he was now met with the hooded eyes of Judge Knight. He covered most of his face, except for his yellow, gleaming eyes.

"If anybody else has any other concerns with Marth, speak now," Meta Knight called out.

Marth counted two seconds of silence before there was a loud scraping of a chair before a woman stood up. Marth had never seen her before. "This man does not deserve to walk freely."

"Do you have something to say, Mrs...?"

"Falcon," Samus said crisply. "And yes, I do. My lawyer, Mr. Hayter has all the evidence to prove this man's heinous crimes." She nodded to David who stood up. Everybody in the courtroom murmured. David Hayter was reputed to have never lost a case. So thorough in his cases was he, that he had acquired a nickname; Solid Snake. For when he struck, his poison was usually a solid hit directly to a winning case.

"What will you be accusing Mr. Lowell of?" Meta Knight asked.

Snake stood up. "I'd like to request that the accused be tried on counts of murder, statutory rape as well as blackmail. It will of course, be up to you, should you see him guilty that you should hand down the punishment. However, I suggest death."

Marth felt his blood slow down in an icy stop. "What?" he heard himself say. He was utterly puzzled.

He felt Ike nudge him. "Shut up," he said. "Anything you say in court can be used against you. I'm trying to save your life here. Again."

"Sorry," Marth responded through numb lips. "I really appreciate you being here..." He did. He never thought Ike would brave coming to Parisea for him. He decided to take comfort in that. Peach, Dr. Mario, Yoshi, Zelda and Link were all sitting behind him. He was surrounded by his loved ones. He took a deep breath.

"Do you have any witnesses to any of your charges?"

Snake smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do and he seems to be sitting in this room right now."

There was more mutterings at this as people craned their necks to see who the witness could possibly be.

"Would the former prisoner of cell three-six-four, stand up?"

There was a silence as people looked at each other in confusion. Peach and Dr. Mario stared at each other. They knew.

"How can you be the witness?" Peach asked.

"I'm sorry, was that rude? Would the esteemed Dr. Mario Toadstool stand up?"

Dr. Mario had no choice at this point but to stand up and slowly make his way to the witness stand. Marth simply stared at him in confusion. He did not understand.

After being sworn in, Snake began to question him. "You are Dr. Mario Toadstool, correct?"

"Yes."

"About six years ago, you were imprisoned. Care to tell us why?"

Everybody knew Dr. Mario's story. He had been imprisoned by a corrupt noble, but they did not know why or how.

"No," Dr. Mario said firmly. He did not look at Marth, Ike or Peach as he answered this. His fingers though, were trembling, itching to fix a pipe.

"Mario Toadstool, you will answer the question," Meta Knight said.

Dr. Mario sighed, defeated. "I refused to lie for a noble family. As a result, I was put in prison to keep quiet. For five years."

Snake reached into his breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a ragged piece of paper and showed it to Dr. Mario. "I wonder, can you recognize this writing?"

Dr. Mario shook his head vigorously. "No."

"Well, it's an account signed by you. I suppose I should read it since my witness seems curiously reluctant to come clean."

He unfolded the paper and began to read aloud.

"_I can already feel my mind being lost so I suppose I had better write this before I forget why I was put in here in the first place. The family responsible for my false imprisonment is none other than those despicable Lowells. I pray that someday Cornelius and Frank Jaegar shall pay dearly for the many crimes that they've committed. There were always rumors of Cornelius and Frank's indiscretions, but I discovered how horrible they were, the week before my inevitable imprisonment._

"_I was suddenly attacked by Cornelius and dragged, blindfolded to a room I had never seen before to treat a poor girl's wounds. She had given her name as Nana and she was a lovely girl, with the skin the color of snow, and her hair that reminded you of autumn. Unfortunately, she had scratches all over her face and what little remained on her was torn to bits. Her face was almost unrecognizable. There were bruises on her throat, as if she had been half strangled and her breasts, what little was beginning to bud at any rate, had multiple bite wounds. After a thorough examination, I was forced to conclude that this poor girl had been forcibly raped, possibly gang raped. _

"_Frank commanded me to save her because he was deeply in love with her so I began to save her. It wasn't until after Frank and Cornelius left the room so that I could heal her as best I could, that Nana revealed that Frank had indeed loved her but she had never returned any of his advances, for she was a young child of only eleven. He became angry with her continually spurning her advances and in the end, he invited her for supper at Cornelius's behest and advice and subsequently raped her over and over to make sure he effectively broke her. He did not count on her saying no each time he brutalized her and realized she was almost dead. Cornelius, the more level-headed and perhaps the more monstrous one, suggested to blackmail an exceptionally good doctor to save her life which is why I was kidnapped. After a long struggle of two days and tireless work, Nana died in my arms. I never found out if she had a family to mourn her. But she was a sweet child and after spending two whole days and witnessing her agony and her ability to persevere through it, I was determined to bring these men to justice. They, along with their whole family deserved punishment of the worst kind. I came to this conclusion after I realized that Cornelius and even Frank did not feel any remorse for what they had done for her._

"_What crime was that of Nana's? She reminded me of my own dear daughter. She had her whole life ahead of her. She was in every sense of the word, a lady until the very end despite the fact that she was probably very poor. What makes a person a nobleman if their deeds are not noble at all? They asked me to keep quiet for a hefty sum of money and I refused._

"_That's how I found myself here. Sitting in this cell with nothing but tools for making and fixing pipes. I go mad with every passing day sitting here, wondering what if those Lowells make a victim of another person like my daughter or, if you are reading this, yours? That family name is nothing but bad news. They all deserve to die. Every last one of them if Cornelius and Frank are capable of committing the sins I had witnessed those couple of days. They all deserve to be executed and subsequently rot in an inferno for an eternity."_

A feather could have floated to the floor and everybody could have heard it. The silence was almost stifling, deafening. Snake's scratchy voice rang in Marth's ears. He had always known of what the Lowells were capable of, but hearing it was quite another thing.

Maybe this was God's way of saying he was supposed to die. That there was no such thing as escaping death. He turned around to see Peach, but her eyes were fixed on her father who had slumped weakly to his knees moaning softly over and over, "I didn't mean it. Those words aren't mine."

"Stand up," Snake snapped. Obediently, Dr. Mario complied, but his whole body was shaking now.

"Did you, or did you not write this?"

Dr. Mario said nothing.

"Well?"

Snake shook his head impatiently. He reached into his pocket for the final piece of evidence. "As my witness refuses to answer the question, I would like for you to put this on." He held up an extremely gritty, round monocle. Still numb, Dr. Mario took them and put it on with shaking fingers. Three times, it almost slipped from his grasp before he managed to fit it on.

"Are these yours?"

Dr. Mario nodded, as if in a trance.

"These were found hidden along with the note you conscripted, thus proving you indeed wrote it."

Dr. Mario looked around in the crowd, his world suddenly bright with clarity. "I didn't mean those words in the end," he said suddenly. "I mean, what I wrote was true. The things that happened to Nana really did happen. But condemning Marth Lowell to death for the sins of his father and uncle are false. _They _were the monsters, not him. Please, I beg of you, set him free."

"Objection," Snake stated flatly. "I didn't ask you to elaborate anymore."

"Sustained."

Snake turned to Meta Knight whose yellow eyes looked undecipherable. He turned to the jury. "Well?" He asked. "It's time to vote. All in favor of proving Marth guilty, raise your hands."

Marth saw hands raising and knew by the way his heart beat faster and faster like a bird taking off, before slowing down to a faint, dying heartbeat that all was lost.

**•••**

**Initially, this chapter was supposed to be a lot longer, but I realized it would probably be better if I cut back and made the next chapter a lot longer. Well, here you have it. Stay tuned for the conclusion! Whatever shall happen next?**

**Sorry if these chapters seem super rushed by the way. I'm trying to reach a deadline here! :o**


	5. Redemption

**I, Lady Paprika, do not own anything associated with Nintendo which includes its characters, settings and anything that falls under its ownership. I also do not own _A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens or any quotes that I may have inserted here that belong to him.**

* * *

Once upon a time, Samus had been happy. She had been poor perhaps, an orphan, and there had been nights that she found herself homeless with no dinner.

But Samus knew that as long as she had her sister nearby, she would always be fine. And she was always beside her with those warm, unquestioning brown eyes and that slightly tangled brown hair. She smelled like sunflowers, and her laughter tasted like buttered popcorn. Samus did not know that her happiness depended on Nana's life.

She didn't realize it until the day Nana did not find her, and it was only then that Samus realized how stupid she had been to let Nana out of her sight for one moment. She recalled the day Nana had not come home, and spent the rest of her days replaying the way her heart seemed to slow down time on its own, and the way her mind seemed dry and tight with worry.

For the next two days, Samus scoured the city with no sleep, aware that horrible things might have happened to her while she walked the streets alone at night. But nothing mattered to her except her sister. There was nothing worse than the possibility that you were the only person in your family alive.

Her worst fears were confirmed when she saw a certain doctor dragging a garbage bag down the side of the Parisean river that ran through the heart of the city. There was some brown hair poking out of the top.

Pulse quickening, Samus had followed the doctor by the river and watched him dig her a grave. It occurred to her that she could kill him right now if she wanted to, but for some reason, she had waited, perhaps for her nerve to catch up to her.

And then she heard the doctor sob quietly to himself as he dragged her beautiful body out and that was the moment Samus's heart disappeared into black smoke. Never again would she hold that tiny, warm body. Never again would she see her sister's warm, brown eyes. Never again would she compare Nana's laughter to bright, buttery popcorn.

Never again would Samus smell the sunflowers.

And in that moment, Samus realized that what she wanted most in the world was vengeance and retribution and she did anything she could to get it. The next day, she begged the doctor to take her in, and within the next year, had him confess to what happened. From there on out, Samus knew that the only way to live was to make sure every single Lowell was dead.

"You said he had a wife," Samus said now, taking a sip of wine. In her lap was a scarf.

"Yes, you must've seen that pretty blonde in court," Snake said. "Blue eyes, slightly round around the middle."

If Samus were anybody else, she would have choked at that statement. Instead, ever so poised and calm, she asked, "Dr. Mario's daughter? The one who is pregnant?"

Snake only nodded.

Samus arched an eyebrow almost imperceptibly; Snake did not catch it, but Samus knew that Captain Falcon had seen the slight facial change and she knew that he would try to talk her out of it.

But Samus knew that the only way to rest easy was to die or to effectively end the Lowell line. And in order to do that...

She looked down at the yellow scarf and in that moment, she could almost smell the sunflowers.

**•••**

"He's always telling me that I would make a great mother," Peach said, a tired hand draped over her stomach. It had taken Peach about a week since the trial to calm down. Ike had seen her faint as the sentence was carried out; Link and Dr. Mario had to carry her off. Then, she had shut herself off in her room for a week and did not come out. Zelda left trays of food by her door and while she, Link, Dr. Mario, Luigi and Ike all tried to enter her room, she had refused them - first in sobs, then in yells of anger, and finally in a moan. She did not eat much.

When she finally remerged from her room, she looked gaunt, but her eyes looked closed off to the world as if she had been permanently blinded by the injustice of the world to notice anything else. Zelda asked her gently if she wanted to talk about it. Peach smiled a smile that did not quite reach her eyes and said she was fine.

_Fine_.It seemed to be the sort of passive-aggressive, unfeeling response Ike would have given a year ago before he had gotten to know Peach. The response made him want to shake the life back into her, but he was afraid that if he touched her, she would shrink away from him, or worse, not respond at all.

She refused to talk about Marth's sentencing. She acted like he was traveling, like the horrible thing hadn't happened. So the rest of them acted like he was gone too.

For his part, Ike couldn't stand it. He hadn't had the chance to see Marth's expression upon seeing the almost unanimous vote that would land him the death sentence. His head had turned away from Ike, as if he didn't want anybody to see how he truly felt. It was the last time Ike had seen him. Criminals in death sentences were not allowed visitors after all and though Link, Ike and Dr. Mario all fought to free him afterward, the answer stuck - Marth would die.

"His wife is pregnant. This would devastate her!" Link had said angrily to Meta Knight. Snake had been nearby, Ike had noted. He hadn't liked the way Snake's eyes lit up at this information.

For his own part, Ike could feel a dead weight settle within the pits of his stomach. Cold, hard guilt that refused to budge. After everything Marth had done for Ike, Ike could not save him. He should have done more.

He glanced at Peach with that strange smile on her face, no warmth, no happiness. "Yes, you will," he responded now to her. Five months had passed since Marth's sentence. His execution was scheduled for next week. Peach would not be able to attend. She was so heavily pregnant that she wouldn't be able to leave the house until after the baby was born. "Have you thought of any names?" he asked.

Peach shrugged, twisting her hands at the table. "I'm not entirely sure. If it's a girl, I think I'd very much like to name her Lucy. But if it's a boy..." her fingers went still. "Well, the truth is, Marth said he would name it if it were a boy. And if it were a girl, I'd get to name it."

Ike was suddenly overcome with the urge to grab those cold fingers of her's. But he did not. Instead he sipped the tea and for the first time he did not mind the taste. He had done all he could, he argued within himself.

So why did he still feel so much guilt?

•••

Marth couldn't help but grin wryly; prison was a place he found himself very often. But if he had to be honest, Nintaindo's was like a luxury hotel room compared to Parisea's. The guards yelled, and poked their swords through the bars of the cell if you got too close. If you spoke at all, they yelled at you. Marth could not even stand properly and what was worse was that the whole floor was sticky with piss and blood. Flies hovered lazily over the heap of dung which took a good quarter of the tiny cell.

Food was black bread and tepid water, which was brought only twice a day. If the guards didn't like you or you misbehaved, you would get no food at all. And once a week (Or at least, he thought it was a week), Marth was dragged off into another room, chained up, and hit with a spiked whip. Ten lashes.

They dragged him back and Marth would spend the night on his stomach, with his back at the air, praying that his open wounds would not get infected. He wasn't sure why it mattered. He was going to die anyway.

In the beginning, he had hope that he would at least have visitors. But as the months wore on, tireless as a camel through a waterless desert, Marth finally understood that he would never get to see his family again. He would never get to see Peach's oceanic eyes, nor would he banter with Ike. He would never see his baby, which drove him mad.

It drove him almost insane to not know what was going on outside. What Peach was doing at this moment. Was she worrying over him? Was the pregnancy treating her right? Did Dr. Mario truly not care that Marth was a Lowell? He chuckled to himself. He had been so stupid to think that Dr. Mario believed he was a D'Aulnais when it was so obvious that Dr. Mario knew all along. The fact that the doctor had still let Marth marry Peach, despite everything that his father and uncle had done to him and Nana was either reckless or kind. Marth wished he had a chance to talk to Peach's father one last time.

He wished he could just hold Peach once more, smile at Ike once...

But this was his price to pay and Marth was convinced that this time God was not on his side. The Lowells did not deserve to live on this planet, it seemed.

And so, Marth sat at the corner of his cell, his heart bleeding.

•••

"You've got to go home," Ike told Dr. Mario quietly, the day before the execution. "You and Luigi and the other servants. Let Link and Zelda stay behind to make sure Peach goes through her pregnancy and then escort her home."

Dr. Mario's brow furrowed. "I can't do that. I've got to be there for Marth's execution. I won't allow him to be alone and friendless. Especially since it's my fault everything happened. If I hadn't written that note..."

"You can spend your whole life worrying about the what-ifs. The truth is, is that Marth won't be dying anytime soon."

Dr. Mario raised an eyebrow. "He won't? How...?"

Ike bit his lip. He was suddenly glad that it was easy for him to mask his emotions. If he hadn't, he was sure that Dr. Mario could read his true plans. Inside, Ike trembled like a dying leaf in the autumn breeze. "I am currently blackmailing a man in an influential position. His name is Ganondorf Dragmire, but his name here is Demise. I am certain he can get Marth out."

Dr. Mario's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I've been working on him for the past few days, and I'm sure he'll help me. Now, do I have your word?"

Slowly, Dr. Mario nodded. "I just can't believe..."

"Just don't tell Peach yet. I don't want to shock her. She's been through so much, understand?"

Dr. Mario nodded again. "I'll take all the staff and leave tonight."

Ike nodded, looking satisfied. He took a deep breath. "Good. Then Link and I shall go tonight to Demise and if all goes well, Marth should be home by tomorrow morning and within a month they should be in Nintaindo, away from this godforsaken country."

Dr. Mario suddenly clasped Ike's hand, startling him. He pumped it, tears brimming in his eyes. "I always was under the impression that you felt like you never truly belonged to our family, Ike. But I just wanted to let you know, that you _are_. I cannot thank you enough for doing this for our sakes."

Ike shrugged. "It's nothing."

But it was something, he thought. It had to be something, if his heart was beating this fast. The next person he had to see was Peach.

Her face lit up, like it always did upon seeing Ike and his heart nearly died again. In those few moments that her eyes saw him, he could see the vast deepness of her eyes, a mess of gorgeous chaos, as empty and filling as the universe. In that moment, Ike understood that she was truly aware that Marth's death was scheduled for tomorrow.

She was lying on the couch, her feet spread out across the seat, but when he went to sit next to her, she sat upright and faced him.

Ike knew that she would not bring it up, so he did. "Marth is expected to die tomorrow."

Sunlight burst through her scarred expression. She was not taken aback by his bluntness; she knew all along that Ike was the sort of person to talk about the elephant in the room. "Yes," she said, her voice almost as light as a whisper. "Yes, he is." The way these words rolled off her tongue was almost fluid, as if she had known for an eternity that this was to be his fate, but it surprised her nonetheless. There was a catch in her breath afterward, as if she wanted to take back that admission, as if she finally understood what she was admitting to.

And it was in that moment that Ike could no longer bear it; he took her in his arms and pressed her tightly to him. It took her a few seconds, but she finally reciprocated by wrapping her own arms around him. She needed to be held, he thought. She needed to know that she would be okay.

He breathed into her unwashed hair that smelled of sunlight and sweat and whispered into her ear. "I know you'd rather not hear this from me but I love you, and I would do anything for you. I told you that once, didn't I?"

Peach nodded, shifting so that she could face him and study his face to read him better.

"You never really asked me to do anything for you though."

"I asked you to save Marth," Peach said, closing her eyes. "You did the best you could."

"No," he said, making her open her eyes. "I'm not finished yet. But the point is, that I have and will always, and I want you to know that. You cared for me like nobody else has. You and Marth. And for that, I owe you everything. Without any of you, I am just a shell."

Peach gave him a quiet smile; it was not like one of her usual radiant smiles that she had given when she was still with Marth. "You are the best friend I could have ever hoped for and you've never been far from our thoughts."

Ike closed his eyes. "Do you mean that?"

"I do," Peach said softly.

Ike opened his eyes and when he had, he had gone back to normal. "I'm glad you think that. Think of me often, that's all I ask."

"But Ike, what are you saying?" Peach asked. She had barely gotten the words out of her mouth, when she felt his lips on her's, so light, like the way a feather feels against skin, that she wasn't sure what he'd really done. And then when she'd opened her eyes, he was gone.

•••

Marth woke up when the cell door opened with a start; for a moment, he nearly pissed in his pants before he realized that it couldn't be time for his execution. The tiny window that let in air was dark as night, and his execution was scheduled for the morning. He frowned, and then his face lit up when he realized who the bulky man was waiting outside.

"Ike?" he asked in astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

"They said I could bring you your last meal. It's a grace granted to those reserved for death," his best friend replied.

"How droll of them," Marth murmured, but his stomach clenched at the smell of meat and wine. "Death is death, what does it matter that I get to taste something wonderful if it will all be over?"

He knew that Ike had just rolled his eyes. "Now you sound like me."

Marth chuckled darkly. "You must be disappointed that your efforts to convert me into a pessimist have been in vain since I am so close to death."

Ike laughed. "Oh Marth, even in such a state, you are still almost aggressively an optimist. It's why you are poking fun of your death."

Marth sobered at that. And then he tore into the meat; the lamb was delicious. "Would you like any?" he asked.

He saw Ike shake his head in the darkness. "Not really." There was a strange way that Ike shook his head; almost as if he was repulsed by the very idea of eating at the moment.

There were a few seconds of silence before Marth asked, "How's Peach?"

"Devastated, but she doesn't really know it. I think she's still in shock."

Marth's stomach roiled at that, and he closed his eyes. He did not wish to cause such pain on her. "You'll take care of her after I'm gone, right?" He asked into the darkness. "I..." he hesitated, before taking the bottle of wine. He could use the liquid courage at the moment. After taking several droughts he said, "I know you love her. And in some ways, I know you would protect her better than I ever could. Hell, you protected even me. Twice. So, I ask that you make her happy in my absence. Make her forget me." He fumbled into the darkness and found Ike's large hand.

He could feel himself feeling oddly calm. "Strange isn't it," he said. "Your hand and mine." He held it up in the sliver of light that the moon provided. Ike's was large, encompassing, strong and tanned with calluses. Marth's was slim, with long tapering fingers. His hands had never known what work was. "How different we are and yet, you are the only person in the world that I could call my brother..." his eyelids began to feel heavy.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of... of course I do. We even... look alike..." Marth said, stifling a yawn. Really, how was it possible for him to want to sleep when the last friendly face he would see was Ike's? "Blood means nothing when there is so much spilled. You are..."

"I am your true brother." He felt himself keel over, felt Ike catch him. He was simply too tired. Tired of worrying, tired of everything. The last thing he felt was Ike's lips brushing across his forehead before he fell into a deep, warm slumber.

He would not awaken until the morning.

•••

Samus had waited carefully until Dr. Mario, Luigi and the rest of the staff had left. She had to wait another hour before Ike and Link went out as well, presumably to try and free Marth again. She rolled her eyes. Somebody would die tomorrow on that guillotine, she knew. She had spent too much time plotting the deaths of all the Lowells and she'd be damned if the half-hearted efforts of Ike and Link prevented that. She waited another fifteen minutes in the darkness before stealing up towards the grand entrance of the Lowell estate.

It had been the first time she'd come to this place. The mansion loomed over her, but it looked rather foolish, a ghost of the intimidation that it once was. The estate would be empty now, but for Peach and that spawn of her's.

It was simple, Samus thought to herself. Kill that bitch and that baby.

She stole up the front steps and knocked on the door. Nobody would know the pistol concealed up her sleeve. She had spent a fortune on it, practically most of the money that _Blue Falcon_ was making. Captain Falcon had not been happy.

"She's innocent, Samus! This has gone to far! She is not even blood-related to the people who ruined your life!"

Samus had whirled on him, staring at him in the face. The fury was still there, she realized. Would vengeance ever quench it? "Because of that man she fucked and got pregnant with, that family name made me the _only_ woman to hold my name." She was surprised when she felt heat sting at her eyes and realized a moment later that they were tears. "And I don't even have _that_ anymore, once I married you."

Falcon had stared at her. He had never seen her cry before, so she realized it must have been somewhat of a shock. But he recovered quickly and had said coldly, "So you blame me for stealing your identity too? Samus, what has gotten into you? The _Stealth Strikers_ was supposed to be a way to fight back against injustice. Since when did your little band become a group that promoted it?"

The question lingered in the air between them, stretching the space between them even more. The tension between Falcon and Samus was close to snapping. Samus couldn't decide in that moment whether or not to concede that Falcon was right or to give in. Her whole body had been shaking so horribly. She needed to release the anger, she needed to _kill_.

She was insane and sadly, she realized in that moment, she could not drag Falcon down with her either. She couldn't do anything about her lust for blood. She stared at the man she had loved for five years. He had given her a house, he had cared for her, he had given her the means to start the vigilante group _The Stealth Strikers_ and yet..._  
_

...He had loved her, and yet it was still not enough.

She had swallowed, had let herself be drowned and consumed by the hate that coursed through her very veins. This was what had kept her alive all these years after all. "I'm leaving Captain Falcon," she said steadily in a voice that convinced Falcon of her finality. "Don't try to stop me. Don't come looking for me. We are through."

Deep inside, she understood that what she had done was right. Keeping Captain Falcon out of her final rampage was the biggest act of kindness and love she had ever shown anyone, excluding Nana. And he would never know. It was enough to make her weep again.

And then the door opened, and Samus was brought back to the present. She stared at the woman in front of her, but it was not Peach. It was some pretty woman with pointy ears, blue eyes and brown hair.

"You're... you're that woman who accused Marth!" were the first words out of her mouth before she reacted by forcefully slamming the door shut. Luckily, Samus managed to get her foot in the door.

"I just wanted to talk," she said pleasantly, easing the door open by leaning in and forcing the door open. She took the gun from her pocket and jabbed it in the brunette's ribs. "Have a friendly chat. I can get nasty if I don't get what I want, so you best let me in."

The woman's expression tore through Samus; on one hand, she took savage pleasure that she was frightened and horrified of her, but on the other hand, she felt guilty. She tried to convince herself that this woman was also an enemy if she found Marth's presence enjoyable.

She slowly backed away, and Samus breezed in, slamming the door shut and bolting it shut. Now no unwanted guests would come in.

"Zelda, who is it?" she heard Peach's voice call out weakly and Samus realized that now was her chance.

"I need to talk to your employer, _Zelda_," she said, mimicking Peach's voice.

In that moment, she saw Zelda's fury match her own, but there was one difference; while Samus was no longer sure where her own hatred was coming from, Zelda's fury was one of pure protectiveness. And a second too late, she realized that Zelda was not going down without a fight. She lunged at Samus, who pulled the trigger of her gun. The noise it made was deafening. She heard Zelda cry out, but realized that the bullet had hit the wall behind her.

Zelda tackled Samus to the floor; the gun went skittering away. She slapped Samus across the face with another savage yell and Samus tried to wriggle out of her grasp. It took a couple of attempts, during which Zelda was clawing repeatedly at her face, but Samus managed it. She ran towards the gun, knowing she only had seconds to fire it at that infernal woman.

She half-ran, half-limped and finally picked up the gun, but before she could turn it on Zelda, she felt the other woman's hand grasp the gun as well.

"Zelda," she could hear Peach's voice cry out softly. "I think... I think it's time... the baby..."

Both of them reacted in different ways; Samus's hands slackened across the gun at this development, but Zelda managed to snatch the gun away, and fired it at her first chance.

The gun, Samus realized numbly, was not supposed to be shot at close quarters. The sound of the gunpowder and the bullet whizzing through the barrel, made her go deaf. And then there was pain that signified that Samus was dying. She looked down at her bloodied chest and realized she had lost, she looked up again at Zelda who looked shocked herself, as if she didn't know she had it in her to fire the gun.

"You..." Samus said, but she couldn't hear herself say it. She felt herself drop to the cool, rich marble floor. "You..." she wanted to say, but the words died in her throat, and she could feel something in herself that she'd never felt before - an icy numbness was spreading through her veins, quenching the drive to kill, to maim, to cause destruction. How strange was it that death somehow managed to make all problems in life so trivial.

She saw Falcon's weathered, worried face cloud her mind and a tear almost slid down her cheek. "Tell him," she choked, thinking about Falcon. "Tell them," she corrected herself. "I'm sorry." She inhaled once more.

What Samus couldn't have known, was that Zelda could not hear either and thus didn't know what Samus had said, that she had sought redemption in her final moments.

For the last millisecond of Samus's life, she could smell sunflowers.

•••

The woman behind Ike was really irritating him. She kept sobbing quietly to herself. It wasn't the fact that she was crying, it was more that she as a woman was _allowed_ to cry, and he wasn't. He turned around to face her.

"Stop crying," he said harshly.

To his surprise, she looked up angrily through her blue hair and for a moment, he thought he saw a little of Peach in her. A fresh wave of agony tore through Ike. He had spent the rest of the night in that cell, wondering if this had been a good idea.

"Then you stop shaking," she threw back.

It was true. Ever since Marth had left, Ike could not stop shaking. His throat had constricted at odd times and now that it was morning, he understood that he had approached the last hours of his life. "I can't," he said.

The carriage that took them to the gallows opened, and Ike saw the guillotine winking merrily at him. The unkempt mob surrounding them began to cheer at the sight of blood. As if they didn't have enough death already.

"Then let me cry."

"No," he said. The sounds of the mob's cheers, the scent of blood, and this girl's anger was enough to make him stop shaking. He understood in that moment that he was supposed to die; he had made his choice. "Why are you even here?" he asked.

"You haven't heard of ol' Lyn's story have you?" she said bitterly.

"I'm new," he said.

"I was a guard for the last D'Aulnais. They caught us and tried me for treason. Said I was supposed to _expose_ Isaac D'Aulnais, not protect him. But national pride didn't matter to me," she said, smiling slightly to herself. "I loved him."

"They killed him then?" Ike asked.

She gave him a withering glance, "Obviously, they did. Right before my very eyes. To these harbingers of justice," she said, snorting at the phrase, 'harbingers of justice,' "I was even more at fault than being a noble. I committed the crime of falling in love."

"Me too," Ike realized aloud.

Lyn stared at him questioningly. As they shuffled through the line, Ike began his story. "Well, first of all, you did not protect the last D'Aulnais. I did," he began. He had never talked as much as he did right now; but he felt the irrational need to tell his story and so he did. He told her how he fell in love with her, slowly and surely, the way a suicide would, never truly knowing the consequence of that action until he came unto this very moment. He told her of his friendship with Marth, how they were so unalike, how much Ike hated him, yet how much of a debt he owed him. He told the whole story and at the end of it, Lyn was silent.

"You did it for this Peach then," was all Lyn asked at the end of his story. "For her happiness?"

Ike almost said yes. Almost. Then he said, "No." He smiled a strange smile. "I think I thought it was always for her, but it wasn't. True," he said, speaking more to himself than for her. "Peach did have faith in me. She did bring me out from the lifelessness I once had. But she wasn't the only one. Marth was as well. And both of them were good people. Both of them..." he trailed off. "We were friends." He ended, shortly. He looked at Lyn, sure that she wouldn't understand his sudden incoherence. He had haphazardly thrown his sentences together.

But she had pieced it together. "You loved them, and for that you owed them your life," she said quietly.

Ike slowly nodded. "Yes. And I wouldn't have it any other way." He looked out into the crowd, dirty and filthy as they were. "You know what I see?"

"A crowd wanting our deaths?" Lyn asked. They were nearly at the guillotine.

"Yes," Ike admitted. "I see a crowd of bloodthirsty people, who are worked up in a frenzy. Desperate for love, desperate for hope, but unable to channel these desperations correctly. I see people like the _Stealth Strikers_ perishing in their destructive vengeance. But these same people are also capable of love, of respect, of hope. Therein lies their brilliance. They seem like monsters now, but within each person lies Parisea at its true strength. This country, although I have never known it, has the potential to become beautiful, to become brilliant. It will rise from the ashes. I know it. I can _feel_ it through these people's hate because to hate something is to still feel.

"I see Peach, Marth, Dr. Mario, Zelda, Link... My friends, that I have sacrificed myself for willingly. These people have already understood how to channel their hearts into a sanctuary of peace, of compassion and of love and they have shared it with me. They will weep for me because that's who they are, they will think of me to their very last breaths because that is what love does. In its purest form, it heals and binds people together. In it's most corrupted form, it hates and destructs."

Ike stopped rambling, and took a deep breath as Marth's name was announced. He took a shaky step forward. Lyn grabbed his hand before he went up and on impulse, she kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly. "Thank you for that. Your words have soothed me. I think I'm ready."

"Me too," he said, before some guards roughly pushed himself to the guillotine. They fit his neck in the block of wood and he had a perfect view of the crowd that jeered at him. He watched the crowd, and imagined Peach's eyes, Marth's dry humor, Dr. Mario's flashing, knowing monocle. He remembered Zelda's fierce protectiveness, Link's loyalty.

"_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known," _he murmured aloud to himself, before the guillotine whistled down and claimed its victim.

He had no regrets.

•••

"Ike," Peach gasped, sweaty and tired. "His name is Ike." The child was a boy and healthy. Even though she had agreed earlier that Marth would be allowed to name it if it were a son, she knew that this was the only way and that Marth would welcome this. He was still groggy from the drugs.

Zelda nodded. Peach allowed herself to shed her tears before she looked at her son, her little baby boy. He was not dead, she thought. Not really. She smiled as the little blue-haired baby, red and still bloodied, gently grasped her finger.

"Ike."

* * *

**END. (Finished this five minutes before the cutoff date ended, so not much to say here because I need to get this in fast!)**


End file.
